Manna….or Becoming ok with not writing over the summer.

“The People of Israel went to work and started gathering, some more, some less, but when they measured out what they had gathered, those who gathered more had no extra and those who gathered less weren’t short—each person had gathered as much as was needed.”

Exodus 16:17-18

I didn’t write this summer.  No scratch that. I didn’t post to my blog this summer.

I wrote a ton. In my heart and in watching the clouds. In the sand and late mornings sleeping in. Sometimes on paper. But rarely typed word in this space.

The spaciousness of summer slowed me down. My son completed his first year of being in school all day. There was something very summery about this summer. More defined. More anticipated. The rhythm of life felt glorious and carefree and new.

But it didn’t start that way. As June approached, clenched in my fists were plans and schedules for posts and topics: my self imposed writing schedule. But VBS came and one finger loosened its grip. A week at the shore and a few more uncurl. Visits from friends not seen in years, a whole hand is released. And by mid summer the hands that held on to what we thought should be, are raised high in the air. Surrendered to the maker of it all.

The Israelites and I are companions,  I rush ahead trying to gather more. More that won’t truly nourish. More than I needed for the summer days. And it gets wormy and smelly, and I become distracted and off-center. His manna is enough. He is enough.

We scooped the summer manna in our arms, enjoyed each day and gone. But the memories of his provision and his grace stay. The stories of our summer, of our noticing God in big and small moments, of milestones and sameness…those stories they linger on in this transitional month. September, my bridge from summer to fall. I look back and forwards and see the gift we were given.

Now routine and harvest call out to us. And I marvel at the ok-ness of this space that sat silent while we played. The ok-ness of seasons of life and callings and the gentle whispers that float in the summer breeze. The air that turns crisp and calls me back to structure.

The realization that I don’t have to do it all, all of the time. That not writing for a few months (or not ‘you fill in the blank’), doesn’t mean not writing forever. I don’t need to rush and get all of life in right now. It will come to me in its time. And yet in that paradox, I experience more of the fullness of life in the current moment.

And the letting go, the unclenching of hands, it is so freeing and I can breathe. And I have eyes to see that God has got it under control. He rains down nourishment we have never heard of. I say ‘what is this?’, but He knows it will be enough. For each day. For today.

He provides in each season. I need his manna in the summer disconnect of life. I need his manna in the fall of calendar management.

He never grows weary nor tired. Oh… but I do. And I need nighttime and Sabbaths and summer. They are my teachers in my limits, and the purpose in having them. I sleep and the world keeps spinning. I enter Sabbath rest and my family still functions. I spend a summer away and you are still here reading.

As this silence reveals my limits, his unlimited power and grace take center stage. And even more amazing than that, when he invites me to rest….he then says he wants to share his strength and peace with me. Filled up, not alone, so that I can overflow again. His manna enough for today. Again.

Linking with Playdates with God.

and Unforced Rhythms of Grace