We’re the last ones out the doorway that passes under the white steeple, and my Favorite Farmer turns the key on another Sunday.
The girls click seatbelts, ask for TobyMac’s “Funky Jesus Music” on the way home, and we crank it to Volume Max. We’re living in the glow of the Gospel.
And when you’ve been filled heapin’ full by the Spirit, you can’t help but wear broad smiles and sing it loud and trade fist-bumps and high-fives.
We drive past cornfields, with tassles stretching higher than anyone around here can remember. We steer the van into the driveway, and unload the Bibles and the half-full Gatorade bottles and the stray toys that rolled under the seats.
Bellies are growling, and I open the refrigerator, to find that the last two shelves are heaped high with sweet corn. We moms tell our children that their eyes must be bigger than their stomachs … but maybe mine are, too?
And that’s when it happens. In the cold air of an open refrigerator, I’m once again struck by the abundance that is my life. And here in this space, I’ve marked just a bit of it in green: the food and the fields and the family and the fellowship. The two-car garage, and a van to park inside of it. A church and our Bibles and no fear of going thirsty or hungry. (And we even leave the Gatorade bottles half-full.)
Because water and Water — and bread and Bread — are always in abundance here.
We could live for months on the food stored in our cupboards and freezers. And the Real Food? It is in abundance, too, readily available in leather-bound covers and gold-lined pages that tell the story of a fallen people and a great Redeemer. But how often do I walk right past it, because I think I’ve had my fill???
And this is what God’s Word does. It comforts, yes. And it instructs, of course.
But it also convicts. And rightly so.
My favorite farmer locked the door on another Sunday, but not without the Word sneaking past glass doors to lodge into the heart. As it should …
We heard the Bible story of another farmer, who produced a good crop. He had nowhere to store his crops, so he decided to tear down his barns and build bigger ones. And the farmer would say to himself: “You have plenty of good things laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”
And I ask myself: “Do I store things up for myself, or am I rich toward God?”
The phone rings, and it’s the neighbors. Would we like to join them for supper?
We say, yes, we’ll bring the corn. And they’ll serve the hamburgers. And some friends in town will bring a cucumber salad.
Because this is what we ought to always do with the abundance: share.
We have much — and not just the stuff crowding the shelves. We’ve been lavished with the Good News. What am I going to do with these riches? Am I just going to fist-bump the girls as we sing TobyMac, and call it good?
We have a feast. We want to share.
Father, show us how…
Related: This one made me think: Over at The High Calling today, Douglas Hicks, author of Money Enough, challenged readers to consider abundance and true happiness. You can find his story by clicking here.