Loaves and Fishes

We’ve been home for seven months- longer out in the world than within the confines of a hospital. In many respects, we have found a rhythm. It’s syncopated, often sounding like a trumpet taking a tumble down the stairs, but it’s jazzy and there are fun bits. Like the notorious genre, it’s busy and difficult to play. 


There are layers to my life now that are even more complex than all of Liam’s therapies and doctor’s appointments- this is a season of reconciliation with my birth mom even as she is dying of cancer. And we are expecting an unexpected joy- a third baby we always wanted but had given up on following Liam’s diagnosis.


Getting through the first trimester was challenging on many levels- nausea was a big factor as was the emotional and spiritual energy required to reconnect and care for my mother. Lingering on the edge of consciousness was the daily worry of how the baby was doing- would we make it through the trimester? Will he/she have a heart defect like Liam? Even as we celebrated crossing over the 12 week mark this past week, I awaited the results of a blood test to rule out a potential complication that could have (and did for a time) overshadowed the entire pregnancy. We got news today that things are ok, but the weekend wait was not without anxiety and anticipatory melancholy.


These days, the sweet mixes in with the bitter so often it’s hard to remember what it is to just taste the sweet. It has made me bone-weary and near empty most days- seemingly useful for nothing and to no one. But truth breaks in when we least expect it and in the most unlooked for ways.


This morning, Eliza climbed into bed with her children’s Bible and asked me to read the story of the boy with the loaves and the fishes. As I sipped my coffee (and pumped), I read the story of how Jesus fed five thousand people with a child’s lunch. When this passage is normally spoken about in churches, the focus is usually the faithlessness of Jesus’ disciples and the miracles of Christ, but I think those highlights miss the point entirely. The lesson I always hear spoken in my spirit is, “you don’t have to bring everything to the table- you just have to bring what you have and Jesus will do the rest. It’s not about how amazing or talented or sufficient you are- it’s about surrendering what you have to someone who can make it precisely what it needs to be.” The thing about the boy is the author never mentions how much or how little faith the boy has- nor how smart he is or well dressed. It doesn’t even mention where he got his lunch (did his mom give it to him or did he make it himself?) It’s not about inherent agency or individual talent, it’s about a willingness to hand over your stuff. 

What a healing balm that is to this momma’s heart. The truth is I cannot possibly be what everyone in my life needs me to be. All I can do is bring what I have to offer, meager and insufficient though it is, to the only One who can make it enough.