Reaching for the wide, cotton hem of the white mosquito net, my brain spit out a Stop! Don’t do that! interrupting my robotic morning routine. The grogginess from yet another poor night’s sleep caused a delayed response as I stood looking at the hem in my hand. “Oh, yeah, thanks, I’d forgotten I planned to leave the net down.” Who was I talking to anyway? Alone in the room, I dropped the net and headed for the kitchen.
Anne stood by the flaming, kerosene cook-stove, gingerly leaning each piece of bread against the peak of the little camp toaster. Looking up, she smiled. “What’s up with you this morning? You’re not your usual bubbly, morning self today.” I tried to wave off any further conversation. “Seriously, are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s the noisy jungle, and last night a huge cockroach crawled up the back of my head and…”
Slipping to the nearby bedroom, Anne glanced in while I continued. “I’m leaving my net down today so that those ugliest of God’s creatures can just find someplace else to hide, and someone else to attack in the night.” My colleague stifled her giggles.
“What you need is a hot cup of coffee. Here, take this and drink up!” Anne lifted my mug.
I reached for the black brew; its aromatic steam filled my nostrils. Awe yes, the morning nectar-of-the-gods couldn’t make everything right, but a good cup of java did help to put things in perspective.
Following the early morning breakfast, I grabbed my Bible tapes, and headed for my blue, prayer chair. ”But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you…’”* I listened to the reader, but didn’t finish the sentence before clicking it off; tears began to fall.
“Oh God, I really don’t think I can make it here. I know your grace is supposed to be sufficient, but I think I’m about a quart low right now. I just can’t make it.” My head really sagged more than it bowed, while I clutched the well-used little Walkman that held the New Testament cassette.
“Can you make it for one more day?” How sweet the voice which came from deep within.
“One more day? Well, yes, I think I can make it for just one more day.”
As soon as the words left my lips, the memory of another such moment sprung to mind. Newly blind the previous year, I cried out to God, “I just can’t do this, Lord! I really can’t!”
“Can you do it for one more hour?”
Shoulders shaking, my tears flowed like Niagara Falls. “No, I don’t think I can do this for one more hour.”
God heard my whispered reply through the sobs. “How about one more minute? Could you do it for one more minute?”
“Yes, for one more minute, I can do this, but no longer, please.”
Well, that one minute had turned into ten and then the hour had passed. It made me smile to recall that dreadful day not-that-long ago.
“Okay, I get it, God. Yes, with Your help, I can make it just one more day.” I must have improved a bit, because this time God had started with one day, not one hour.
Then, the image of a large, well-worn, yellow-red, clay water pitcher formed in my mind. Suddenly from within the pitcher, the clear, sparkling liquid began to expand. Before long, I saw it flowing up and over the spout and rim of the pitcher. Simultaneously, I felt something happening deep within me. A warmth radiated my innermost being, and flowed in all directions. So real was the filling sensation that, as the liquid began to overflow the pitcher, I reached up to feel the top of my head. I began a deep belly-laugh, realizing that, of course, nothing would be coming out of my own head. Then, another verse exploded from within me, “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap.”**
Joy filled the room as my burden lifted. If I would but give my all, God would abundantly do the rest. I need not be burdened down by physical disabilities, lack of sleep, or the presence of insects and jungle creatures disturbing my night. The measure of God’s grace would always be enough; and if I didn’t think so, I just needed to sit down and discuss it with my loving Father God.
*2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)
** Luke 6:38 (NIV)
Author’s Note: This is a true story.
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