Daily Bread

​I’ve discovered something about myself these past few months.
I am not at all satisfied with daily bread.

I want enough bread to last us at least a week. Daily bread? What is that? As a father, it almost seems irresponsible to only buy bread for one day. We need bread to last at least a few days or a week.
And when it comes to grace and provision, I want it Costco-sized, in order to last for way longer. Like a 100-pound bag of white rice stacked neatly in the garage, I want enough grace to cover my family for the next six months. I want the assurance that we're going to make it through it all.

Though the doctors are confident that the cancer is all but annihilated in EvanMarie’s body, we still have a long, long road ahead of us. Throughout the next six months we've got radiation at MD Anderson, another series of scans soon after, immunotherapy cycles, countless appointments and labs (lots of Braeswood drives), sleepless nights, and of course the "whatever else" that might go sideways, which, if you've ever met us, isn't exactly out of the question.

Honestly, at this point, I feel like I could use a second pantry.
Maybe a little barn out back.

The problem is that God has never seemed interested in giving His followers months of certainty.

I want the whole loaf. God keeps giving me a single slice. Enough for today.

The Israelites must have really hated manna. At least some days.
No barns. No stockpiles. Every morning they had to wake up and trust God again. Just enough for one day.

I used to read that story and think, How beautiful. He fed them every day. Now I read it and think, How frustrating. Because I still want tomorrow's bread today. And the next day’s as well if possible. 
I want guarantees. 
I want a roadmap.
Instead, God keeps handing me a day's portion and saying, "Trust Me."

And somehow, it keeps being enough.
Not the guarantee I’m after. Just enough.

The future still terrifies us.
But the present keeps convincing us that we're going to be okay.

That's the part I never expected.

When EvanMarie was diagnosed with cancer, I assumed joy would disappear for a while. I imagined our family entering some gray waiting room where nobody was allowed to laugh until the danger passed. But that's not what happened at all. The Hickmans kept being Hickmans. We still gather around the table. We still make each other laugh.

There is still the Holy Mass.
There is still our backyard garden.
There is still family.

And our girl, she keeps shining in some of the darkest places. She's recruited nurses and other kids on the hospital floor into foot races, bike races, and endless rounds of The Floor Is Lava. Back home now in the cul-de-sac, she is living her best life with her siblings and best friends. Laughing, being silly, and bringing joy wherever she goes. 

Life keeps showing up for us.
Not a perfect life.
Not an easy life.
But a good life. 
A life worth living. 

Jesus tells us to look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap, yet the Father feeds them. He tells us to consider the flowers of the field. They don't strive or worry, yet God clothes them in beauty. For most of my life, I've admired those verses. Lately, I've had to relearn what they mean. 

Hope isn't the assurance that everything will work out exactly the way we want.
Hope is confidence that God is good. And He will remain good. 

Tomorrow will have enough trouble of its own. Jesus told us that too. 

So today, I’m trying to receive today's daily bread. Today's grace. Today's Eucharist. And so far, somehow, miraculously, it's been enough.
We are just going to keep following and trusting the One who is feeding us.

Psalm 104 paints a picture of a God who continually provides, making grass grow, bringing forth food from the earth, sustaining every living thing He has made. Not all at once. Not for years in advance. But day after day, season after season, with a faithfulness that often goes unnoticed until we need it.

Maybe that's the lesson I'm learning. Daily bread isn't a lesser gift than a storehouse of certainty. It's a deeper invitation to trust the God who keeps providing it.

"Bless the LORD, my soul; LORD, my God, you are great indeed! You make the grass grow for the cattle and plants for people's work, to bring forth food from the earth, wine to gladden their hearts, oil to make their faces shine, and bread to sustain their human hearts."
— Psalm 104

Thank you to those of you, our beloved friends and family, who have sustained us daily, through your kind and loving support and prayers.

Glory to God in all things.

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