And all ate and were filled.
Maybe he had some stashed,
maybe people had it all along
and they just needed to share,
maybe they were all satisfied with a crumb,
maybe it meant his body, his presence,
maybe there is always more bread hidden in bread
and it only needs to be opened,
maybe he made bread just like that,
sourdough and everything.
Which it was doesn’t matter.
The sun rose this morning
with more light than you know what to do with.
More beautiful green living things reach out to you
than you’ll ever have time to consider.
More birds sing to you than you’ll ever listen to.
Immeasurable grace is poured out upon you,
splashing, most of it rivering down your legs
and into the floorboards.
More of what you need to carry on
is secreted into your heart than you believe.
There is hope enough folded into this world.
Of forgiveness and tender delight
you are given more
than you can ever use or comprehend.
Of the darkest mystery,
dense with love like the billioning stars,
you are given so much more,
even in your bleakest droughts,
your dustiest griefs and desolations,
than you can know.
And of you yourself,
given with confidence
to this effulgent universe,
there is so much more than you can see,
so much more.
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