As I drove home from breakfast with a friend this morning, I did a little thinking. About the new year. About hope. About living each day fresh. About how, come what may this year, I know, God will be enough. Because he is. And then, I got to thinking about that little line in the Lord's Prayer -
"Give us this day our daily bread."
And I thought to how Jesus is so smart to specify, this day. Because how many times have I asked, maybe not in exact words, but in the expectations of my heart, give me (or us) the last six months of daily breads I (we) didn't receive. A back order, if you will, of daily bread. Of nourishment, provision, love. Give to me, please, what I feel I've been deprived of.
Or this - give to me tomorrow something more than what I've received today. Something better, something sweeter, than this bread mixed with tears. Something that I can sink my teeth into, tomorrow and the day after and the day after that, for this whole next year.
But, oh. This bread is not recompense for days that have past or a stored supply for days ahead. It's just this day. The only day that I inhabit. Here. Now. This moment.
This bread - broken body. Swallowed with this wine - spilled blood. The very life and death of Christ, spreading to every corner and crevice of my hungry being. And sweet Jesus, he doesn't owe me anything. His bread - himself - is enough, more than enough, for this day.
And that is what I dare to live this year, this humble little prayer of faith. Starting with today.