A Jon Post
Is this what starting a ministry is supposed to feel like? My wife and I left the United States 8 years ago (November, 2009) to come here. I still have to pinch myself and make sure I feel all of this and not slip into the daily exercise of bare minimum missions.
Each day up early to administer medicine.
Each day in the car driving to the Central Hospital to coordinate with docs, patients, blood labs, radiology departments, and others.
Each day the administrative nit picks of property ownership, non-profit registration, ministry accounting, employee taxes, and bills to pay (personal and ministry).
And none of that feeds me.
…Give us this day our daily bread…
Each day when I wake up (after administering medicine to a strictly regimented hour), I pray a prayer Jesus taught me and repeat the words He gave me;
…Give us this day our daily bread…
I pray for daily bread knowing it’s so much more than flour, water, yeast and sugar mixed and baked.
The daily bread Jesus told me to ask for must mean more than that.
Saint Teresa of Calcutta wrote often about needing bread and water from her precious Jesus. She wrote about how much she hungered for something more than flour, water, yeast and sugar.
…Give us this day our daily bread…
When I feel the “each days” start to weigh on my soul…
When I begin to succumb to bare minimum missions…
When I’d rather stare in silence at the road than engage with my patient about Jesus…
When I’d rather sit on my couch than go wash a car with an old man recovering from cancer and asking me for a bucket and soap to do it himself…
…Give us this day our daily bread…
My soul cries out to a Merciful God whose mercies rise new each day with the sunrise.
…Give us this day our daily bread…
And it is there.
Maybe not enough to gorge myself or to become overfilled with its abundance.
But enough.
Saint John of the Cross wrote about the winnowing of the soul that the Holy Spirit wills for those He loves. He talked about the plant that grows on the dry and windy mountainside being stronger and more resistant than the lush green stalks that flourish in the soft soil next to the river. When the roots of each are put to the test, the plant in the arid and harsh places with little to no sustenance is the one with the deep and strong roots.
So when His mercies are doled out sparingly, I must remember that craggy and ugly plant growing on the side of a lonely mountain.
I was never called to be beautiful or to look fresh and lush and draw eyes to myself.
I am no water lily filled to the brim with all that is needed for its decorations.
But maybe I can learn to be a short and hardy Rocky Mountain Juniper, surviving in dry places and putting roots deep enough to find the mercy of God where there seem to be only high and hard things.
Rocky Mountain Juniper
Maybe I can find my daily bread in those places.
I truly think so.