I have never once forgotten to feed my child.
Seriously.
In the time that she has been in this world I have faithfully, and sometimes at the expense of sleep, given her the nourishment she needs.
I consider her feeding routine when planning my day and I prepare for her consumption needs before I leave the house. My husband and I talk about her schedule when we are making plans. Ensuring she doesn’t go hungry is a priority.
Yet despite all this care and attention. there are times that if you listened to my child when I place her in the high chair, you’d be convinced that something quite different was going on.
You may be tempted to think that food is only provided at special occasions and therefore she has to hurriedly scoop it up with rapid inefficiency.
You may be inclined to believe that she only eats when she loudly cajoles me to give her what she desires.
You may even think that I purposefully test her patience – waiting until she is miserable and upset until providing her relief.
None of these are the case.
Yet, as a friend recently reminded me, sometimes my child’s response at the dining table is similar to our response to Christ.
When my daughter gets antsy my faithfulness of the past seems to be obliterated from memory, much like when I worry about the future, forgetting about God’s steadfast provision.
I grow impatient when God’s plan doesn’t align with mine and can throw a temper tantrum that, while unseen, would put a hungry kid’s to shame.
I complain about what I lack, consuming the gifts God has given me with selfishness, entitlement and little appreciation, believing I have to protect what is “mine” lest anyone take it away.
I convince myself I am figuratively starved, when all the evidence suggest I’m well-fed.
My response and that of my kid are eerily the same.
Yet just as I desire to do good to my child, my Heavenly Father delights to do good to me (Mt. 7:11).
And much like I shake my head at my kid’s antics, God must similarly look at us and marvel at our lack of faith.
After all, He’s always provided in the past. He promises He always will (Mt. 6:25-34).
And while I wish my child would have confidence in the moments between when I place her in the chair and the first bites enter her mouth, I’m grateful for the revealing, if painful, lesson it affords. In my own times of uncertainty, I can look back at all God has done before, and trust that wherever He has placed me now, He will continue to do the same.