It's a lazy Saturday lunch, grilled cheese and sliced apples. The neighbor kids are here. "Have you eaten?" I ask as I swirl the butter around the hot skillet.
("Our groceries are low, I should probably send them home to eat. We really need to stretch what we have.")
(comes a whisper) Give us this day our daily bread.
Our daily bread. Have we ever been hungry? Have we ever been without bread? Has He ever forgotten?
The bread we have this day is enough, and my heart is quietly humbled.
"Would you like to stay for lunch?"
And then I am reminded of the little one we found in the yard just an hour before, fluttering on his juvenile wings, brave and vulnerable.
"Where shall we put him? Shall we feed him mulberries?"
"Let's leave him right there - his Mama will see him. She'll come feed him."
Look at the birds of the air, daughter. I see them. I feed them. Are you not of more value than they?
Do not be anxious for tomorrow.
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