8/5/19 I cannot carry all these people.
August 5, 2019
Reading 1NM 11:4B-15
The children of Israel lamented,
“Would that we had meat for food!
We remember the fish we used to eat without cost in Egypt,
and the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks,
the onions, and the garlic.
But now we are famished;
we see nothing before us but this manna.”
Manna was like coriander seed and had the color of resin.
When they had gone about and gathered it up,
the people would grind it between millstones or pound it in a mortar,
then cook it in a pot and make it into loaves,
which tasted like cakes made with oil.
At night, when the dew fell upon the camp, the manna also fell.
When Moses heard the people, family after family,
crying at the entrance of their tents,
so that the LORD became very angry, he was grieved.
“Why do you treat your servant so badly?” Moses asked the LORD.
“Why are you so displeased with me
that you burden me with all this people?
Was it I who conceived all this people?
Or was it I who gave them birth,
that you tell me to carry them at my bosom,
like a foster father carrying an infant,
to the land you have promised under oath to their fathers?
Where can I get meat to give to all this people?
For they are crying to me,
‘Give us meat for our food.’
I cannot carry all this people by myself,
for they are too heavy for me.
If this is the way you will deal with me,
then please do me the favor of killing me at once,
so that I need no longer face this distress.”
Rarely have Old Testament scriptures spoken so clearly to my heart as this reading.
I have spent all summer with two small children who are in turns bored, angry, hungry, hurt, sick, and otherwise distressed. For every need, large and small, they look to me. By now, the sound of their grievances has become a ceaseless hum interrupting my every thought and action, and to be fair, my own frustration has become a constant irritant to their summer days. Bright, fun moments punctuate an otherwise heavy season, the hours grinding against each other until blessed, blessed bedtime.
Just as the children turn to me with their problems, I turn to Christ. Lord, this is so hard. Lord, please just let them leave me alone for a few minutes. Lord, please soften her heart. Lord, please quiet his stubbornness. Lord, please just get me through this. Lord, I cannot carry all this people by myself.
This scripture landed in my lap gently. The Holy Spirit gracefully and patiently unfolded its layers until I saw myself laid bare in Moses’ exhaustion. Please do me the favor of killing me at once.
My children grow, and as they change, so do their needs. Selfishness has replaced stubbornness, tantrums have given way to savage outbursts of anger. The measures I dealt last year--last month--must be changed, altered, abandoned for something new.
Israel whines to Moses, and Moses whines to God. He turns to his authority figure and becomes petulant and demanding, forfeiting his responsibility because of the suffering that comes with it. From his example, Israel has learned how to suffer, as well: poorly.
It isn’t enough for me to simply change a rule or institute a new system or create a chart. My children learn from discipline but also from watching. They learn how to live by how I live, and I see my bad habits reflected back to me in a mirror. I can hear my own anger erupting from their small throats when they yell each others names across the house.
In motherhood, I come closer to understanding the Church as the bride of Christ. Because as mothers, it isn’t enough to go through the motions of childcare. Mothers must be always willing to change, to adjust, to sacrifice, to suffer, and this is what Christ wants from us in our relationship with Him, too. Rule following will never be enough. We must love Christ enough to allow our burdens--our crosses--to change us.
Be thankful, mothers. Your motherhood is a gift that is teaching you this lesson, bringing you ever closer to Christ. Because you know what it is to lay down your grocery list to mend a broken lego sculpture, your heart is that much softer, that much more willing to abandon yourself for Christ--whose yoke, it turns out, is easy.
Reading 1NM 11:4B-15
The children of Israel lamented,
“Would that we had meat for food!
We remember the fish we used to eat without cost in Egypt,
and the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks,
the onions, and the garlic.
But now we are famished;
we see nothing before us but this manna.”
Manna was like coriander seed and had the color of resin.
When they had gone about and gathered it up,
the people would grind it between millstones or pound it in a mortar,
then cook it in a pot and make it into loaves,
which tasted like cakes made with oil.
At night, when the dew fell upon the camp, the manna also fell.
When Moses heard the people, family after family,
crying at the entrance of their tents,
so that the LORD became very angry, he was grieved.
“Why do you treat your servant so badly?” Moses asked the LORD.
“Why are you so displeased with me
that you burden me with all this people?
Was it I who conceived all this people?
Or was it I who gave them birth,
that you tell me to carry them at my bosom,
like a foster father carrying an infant,
to the land you have promised under oath to their fathers?
Where can I get meat to give to all this people?
For they are crying to me,
‘Give us meat for our food.’
I cannot carry all this people by myself,
for they are too heavy for me.
If this is the way you will deal with me,
then please do me the favor of killing me at once,
so that I need no longer face this distress.”
Rarely have Old Testament scriptures spoken so clearly to my heart as this reading.
I have spent all summer with two small children who are in turns bored, angry, hungry, hurt, sick, and otherwise distressed. For every need, large and small, they look to me. By now, the sound of their grievances has become a ceaseless hum interrupting my every thought and action, and to be fair, my own frustration has become a constant irritant to their summer days. Bright, fun moments punctuate an otherwise heavy season, the hours grinding against each other until blessed, blessed bedtime.
Just as the children turn to me with their problems, I turn to Christ. Lord, this is so hard. Lord, please just let them leave me alone for a few minutes. Lord, please soften her heart. Lord, please quiet his stubbornness. Lord, please just get me through this. Lord, I cannot carry all this people by myself.
This scripture landed in my lap gently. The Holy Spirit gracefully and patiently unfolded its layers until I saw myself laid bare in Moses’ exhaustion. Please do me the favor of killing me at once.
My children grow, and as they change, so do their needs. Selfishness has replaced stubbornness, tantrums have given way to savage outbursts of anger. The measures I dealt last year--last month--must be changed, altered, abandoned for something new.
Israel whines to Moses, and Moses whines to God. He turns to his authority figure and becomes petulant and demanding, forfeiting his responsibility because of the suffering that comes with it. From his example, Israel has learned how to suffer, as well: poorly.
It isn’t enough for me to simply change a rule or institute a new system or create a chart. My children learn from discipline but also from watching. They learn how to live by how I live, and I see my bad habits reflected back to me in a mirror. I can hear my own anger erupting from their small throats when they yell each others names across the house.
In motherhood, I come closer to understanding the Church as the bride of Christ. Because as mothers, it isn’t enough to go through the motions of childcare. Mothers must be always willing to change, to adjust, to sacrifice, to suffer, and this is what Christ wants from us in our relationship with Him, too. Rule following will never be enough. We must love Christ enough to allow our burdens--our crosses--to change us.
Be thankful, mothers. Your motherhood is a gift that is teaching you this lesson, bringing you ever closer to Christ. Because you know what it is to lay down your grocery list to mend a broken lego sculpture, your heart is that much softer, that much more willing to abandon yourself for Christ--whose yoke, it turns out, is easy.
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