Mundane Manna {ex16:11-12}

Photo © Unsplash/Evi Radauscher

In Egypt
God's people ate their fill
of meat and bread.
And in the wilderness
God's people ate their fill
of meat and bread.

For forty years
—14,600 days and nights—
God revealed to the Israelites
not that He could feed them in the desert
but that it was He
who had fed them in Egypt.

For God, the manna wasn't miraculous.

It is no harder for Him
to make bread rain from the sky
than it is to make
wheat stand in the soil or
dough rise in the bowl or
the crust appear in the oven.

God miraculously provided
for His people in the wilderness
no more or less
than He had in Egypt.

We should stop wondering
why God no longer works miracles and
start asking why we still consider
anything in this life
mundane.

Yeast {ex13:3}

Photo © Unsplash/Gaelle Marcel

You don’t have
Enough time to sit
And wait for the dough to
Swell when you’re quitting slavery and
Taking the wealth.

Blood and Water {ex7:20}

I love this river
I have stood on its banks
frolicked in its swell
almost been swept away by its current

But
I won't soon forget
the moment I met You
and I realized
that the mouthful of
—what I thought was—
clear, cold, refreshing water
was nothing more than
coppery, hot, metallic blood

I'd like to say
that since that moment
I've never cupped my hands again
to draw this putrid liquid
up to my mouth
but You know
that personal Niles are hard to abandon

I've been kneeling
at this river
my whole life
and You know just how
deep a canyon
it has carved in my heart

Still You couldn't bear
to leave me here
fervid and thirsty
never having tasted
Water from the Fountain
that will never
run dry

That Moment {gn42:6}

Photo © Unsplash/Randy Fath

I wonder what it's like—
that moment when you realize
the dreams you dreamed
so many years ago
are materializing
in front of you
in broad daylight.

I wonder what it's like—
the very next moment
when you realize
that you're right where
God planned for you to be
so many years before

and that everything
   the dreams
   the slavery
   the allegations
   the imprisonment
   the abandonment
   the lonely nights
   the wondering
all of it
was part of the plan
to bring you to the time and place
where you would save the world.

That moment,
as the ten sheaves
are bowing down,
would it not
drive you to your knees?

Table Turner {gn25}

The first-time father
at eighty-six.

The bastard child
also blessed with twelve tribes.

The barren woman
gifted with twins.

The birthright
given to the baby.

The servant
becoming the master.

The poor
suddenly
rich.

The weak
suddenly
strong.

The inconsolable
suddenly
in-high-spirits.

God has been overturning tables
long before He
whipped the temple
into a frenzy.

Cruel {gn13:16}

It's sort of cruel
to make such an outrageous promise—
innumerable children
for a man who doesn't even have one

for a man who feels the relentless beat
of a childless father's heart in his chest
to promise more daughters than dust is cruel.

It's sort of cruel
to make such an outrageous promise—
dirty diapers and sloppy kisses and giggles
for a woman whose body long ago
stopped reminding her like clockwork
of her power to deliver new life

for a woman who has felt the monthly sting of bitterness
diffuse into the dull ache of perpetual barrenness
to promise more sons than sand is cruel.

Who makes such outrageous promises, anyway?
Who messes with people like that?
And once you're settled so squarely in the realm of the inconceivable,
where does it stop?

You might as well claim the power
to muzzle hurricanes
to disembowel suffering
to dissolve brickish hearts
to bring back the dead
   AS IF
   the grave had a revolving door

What on earth would drive you
to guarantee the one thing that could
answer the lonely echo of a desperate soul?

What in heaven's name would possess you
to make such an outrageous promise?

It's sort of cruel, you know—
   that is . . .
   unless you can deliver.