“Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God.”

– Proverbs 30:8-9

I remember reading this verse with my brother when I was 19 years old. I was young, zealous, and captivated by Jesus in a radical way. My spirit responded to these words and I was deeply impacted by their simplicity. I was attracted to the sincerity and heart posture of the one who wrote them. After sitting with these words a while, I also, prayed this prayer from a genuine place. As I reflect back, I can see it may have been naive, but it was real nonetheless. 

As far back as I can remember, I was aware of what I didn’t have. Feelings of lack were very familiar. From cousins who always had more, to my best friend having 2 parents and a stable home, to random kids at school…just being hyper-attentive to anything that appeared better. I could weep over all the ways that wounded my young heart. 

In those early years of encountering the love of Jesus, there’s a euphoria that carries you a while. It can be dangerous when life settles because disappointment and trial are an inherent part of the human existence and it can be disorienting when you realize you don’t, in fact, have all the answers. 

What I didn’t know is there would be much suffering to come. 

Abuse.

Divorce.

PTSD.

Parenting alone.

Starting over with nothing.

Trauma.

Recovery.

The list goes on.

It was hard. So hard. In some of my darkest moments, the enemy would remind me of my prayer for only my daily bread and mock me, tempting me to believe that my daily bread wasn’t enough. Even more, that God wasn’t faithful to deliver that much. I remember the internal stress of knowing it was all up to me and the constant voice inside my head, “You can’t afford to make a mistake.” It was an incredible pressure and responsibility to hold. 

The longing for financial security is human. There is no condemnation for it. But I started this whole story to share the evolution of this longing. One that’s marked so much of my life and controlled so much of my emotional well-being, and probably yours, too.

Love and marriage have given me so much. We have such a fun life and there’s never a dull moment in a family like ours. Yet you don’t plant a church for the money. You don’t say yes to Jesus for the paycheck. The years of struggle in my single-hood morphed into years of sacrifice in marriage, pouring every ounce of what little we had into ministry for the sake of the One who called us.  

As a single-mom, I still had a sense of control. I decided what I was going to do and when, how I was going to spend money, and what needed to happen next. But in this journey of faith with my husband, my internal longing for security would scream at me some days. I wanted to buy a home. I wanted to make enough money. I wanted to go back to school. I wanted to take my kids to experience a family vacation. I wanted to provide my kids more space. I wanted – I wanted – I wanted. Again and again, I had to drag the desire for safety and security back to the altar and surrender it. This cycle was incredibly painful but so, so good for me.

Although I don’t know exactly how or when, a massive shift has begun in my heart. Nothing has changed. No big paycheck. No great accolades. No impressive stats to show. Yet there’s a deep contentment that’s taking over me. All of the ambition that ruled me in my youth has turned into longing for quiet days on the back porch. My desire to “serve God” used to take me into deeper pits of comparison, now I secretly wish He would just let me plant a garden and learn all the wonders of life that way. All the things my hearts dreamt up and all the deep desires I’ve wanted to accomplish seem to be morphing into something new. 

They’re not gone, they’re just losing their grip. They exist. They’re alive and well. They just don’t have the same power over me or my emotions. It’s as if my 40’s have gifted me a new lens. I often find myself thinking, “Who needs more? Look at the beautiful life you’ve lived without it.” Wow. What a thought. 

My definition of success has changed entirley. The meaning I once applied to accomplishment is gone. Ambition for gain offers no fulfillment. I’m interested in quality, not quantity.

The irony. The beauty. 

How wrong we are about our own happiness. 

Somewhere along the way, Jesus himself, has become the dream. The only goal. My only ambition. And it’s as simple as this: Give me this day, my daily bread. 

Not sure if I’ll ever own a home. Not sure if I’ll ever own another car. Not sure if I’ll ever be able to take this family of mine on a real vacation.

But I’m sure I don’t need any of those things to know the Lord’s great kindness and provision. I’m sure now that the real treasure of my life is the wild acceptance of all that is and is not. I’m sure you’re not rich until you have something money can’t buy. Thank you, Lord.

I am here. 

He is here with me. 

And that is enough.