What You Need, When You Need It

We ate steak at the fanciest place in town, me and my sister, our husbands, and our parents. Around the table, we joined Mom’s reminiscing. We retold our favorite stories of family vacations and holidays. We revealed some silly childhood secrets. And we listened to Mom’s stories from fifty years she and Dad spent together. One of our favorite stories is of the birthday Mom expected a diamond ring but went home from their swanky dinner with a shiny new set of hot rollers. Whenever Mom tells that story, instead of making fun of Dad for his slow-moving ways, she praises his serious, methodical decision making. She points to it as proof of his dependability.

My mom told stories. I told stories. My sister told stories. Even our husbands had memories to share. We retold some of the stories Dad put on paper in his journal for us. The thing we missed most was Dad’s voice in the storytelling.

Rather than telling the stories himself, he locked eyes on the teller and responded, “By golly, that happened to you too? Isn’t that something?!” He enjoyed his stories told in our voices. Alzheimer’s had robbed him of being able to remember they were his.

My mom is Dad’s main caregiver. She’s been faithfully caring for his soul along with his body. She chose an expensive steak dinner for their golden anniversary celebration because my dad still loves steak. She made a reservation for the six of us early in the evening when the restaurant would be empty and quiet. She called ahead to make the maître d’ and waitstaff aware of my dad’s extra needs. Every detail of the night was geared toward capturing any enjoyment still available to my dad.

Watching my mom care for the man who spent his life caring for us has made the nobility of the caretaking role obvious to me. Caretaking requires unusual strength of body and mind at the exact time emotions are in the fight of their life. No one has caretaking penciled into their calendar or as part of their three-year goals. The title “caregiver” chooses you, and it forces you to make painful concessions you didn’t see coming. Watching my mom adjust her life to align with my Dad’s changing needs highlighted a lesson she’s been teaching me since I was little:

You can trust God’s strength to be sufficient when you need it.

The prophet’s words are clear in Lamentations: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lam. 3:22-23, ESV). God’s people should expect God’s faithfulness and mercy. They will show up every day in proportion to the day’s needs. But while we should expect them, we can’t store them up in advance. God’s faithfulness and mercy come to us in much the same way God provided manna to the children of Israel as they wandered for forty years in the desert of Sinai.

Every day, manna was waiting for them as the sun rose. God wanted them to depend on him for their needs, not the manna, or even their own ability to plan ahead and store it. His instructions to the people couldn’t have been more clear: each person was allowed to gather only one omer (about 9 ½ cups) each morning. The Israelites tested these instructions right away and found God meant exactly what he said. The first morning, some people gathered more than their share, and some gathered less. When each person’s portion was measured, everyone’s measured exactly one omer. God also told them not to save any leftover manna until the next morning. The people who did found their stored manna full of maggots.

God wanted it to be absolutely clear that he was the source of their provision and satisfaction. Gathering just enough showed them how different their God was from any other god. He also wanted stories of him to spread to the surrounding nations.

God hasn’t changed. He’ll be faithful and merciful to you, too. He knows your needs and plans to satisfy them.

He will give you the strength to meet the physical requirements of today but energy may not come until you stand up and decide to start a load of laundry. He’ll help you understand a complicated insurance statement when you make a call and ask for help. He will give you a caring hospice nurse, but you might not know her name until the day things take a turn for the worse.

Confidence comes, not because we have banked up faithfulness and mercy for the future, but because of the memory of past faithfulness and mercy. God told the children of Israel over and over and over to remember. Remember his past miraculous works, remember his provision, remember his acts of power—REMEMBER! Because when we remember, we can go to bed at night with peace in our hearts. We’ll lay our heads on the pillow knowing we will wake to the manna we need.

My mom’s grip never relaxed around that truth. I watched it sustain her. She has shown physical and mental strength far beyond one person’s capacity these last five years. Her absolute trust in God’s provision gave her resilience and courage. Absolute trust also gave her the energy to do extra things out of pure love—like plan a special fiftieth anniversary celebration.

Her restaurant choice was driven by my dad’s love for steak and my mom’s love for my dad. Mom ordered Dad’s dinner exactly the way we spent years listening to him order it—medium rare with a baked potato on the side. She cut his steak and prepped his baked potato. As she contentedly tucked into her own plate, she proved to us that God’s faithfulness and mercy always come just in time.

Lori Florida lives a life that is all about her people. She’s convinced that being Mrs. to one and Mommy to eight will be her most significant way to serve Jesus. She wants to use her life to cheer on and coach the women around her. She is on staff with Project Hopeful working to give a hand up to moms in poverty in Ethiopia. You can find her at loriflorida.com.

Photograph © Renate Vanaga, used with permission