Day 1:
God opens the floodgates of heaven and multiplies my blessings
Aware of their discussion, Jesus asked, “You of little faith, why are you talking among yourselves about having no bread? Do you still not understand? Don’t you remember the five loaves for the five thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered (Matthew 16:8-10)?
"I'm not quite sure what to do!" My mother's pastor had called us into a hurried meeting, deep worry written all over his face.
Earlier, as we made arrangements for her funeral, the church had graciously offered to take care of the repast. Now as the sanctuary filled up, we realized the funeral attendance would be easily more than double the estimated number we had given to Pastor M for catering.
We knew that our mother had a vast circle of friends and connections, but nothing prepared us for the outpouring that day. Evidently, Mom never met anyone who remained a stranger! As we learned when her "bus friends" arrived that day.
Mom's life-long fear of driving meant that instead of a one-hour round-trip by car to work, she had a three-hour commute (one and a half hours each way) to her teaching job in an inner-city area. But in typical fashion, she transformed this challenge into opportunity, establishing firm connections with a number of other commuters.
Somehow, they had learned of her death and funeral details, and showed up for one last ride with their travel companion. And then, there were her life-long friends, her relations, her colleagues, her assortment of students from years of teaching, her various groups, and her church community.
We were immensely touched and comforted by these gestures of love and support, but shared Pastor M's apprehension about feeding this "multitude." At the start of the repast, he shared his concerns with the group, apologizing for the real possibility of running out of food.
But there was no running out that day. We watched, alongside the pastor, in complete amazement as people went back for seconds, and then for more, and still the stores of food held.
At the end of the repast, the stupefied staff packed up the remaining "basketsful" and we took them to my sister's house. Later that day, friends and family members arrived, bringing yet more food, enough to last into the after-funeral gathering and for days to come.
My siblings and I reflected on all the years that food had been the blessing our mother had given to others. We thought with great chagrin about our growing up years, how we had complained when she baked three loaves and gave away two and a half.
We reflected on how, unphased, she had thrown open her doors to share a meal with expected or unexpected guests—the traveling health care representative—visiting pastors—even a couple from Norway my dad once brought home during his short stint as a taxi driver.
I cannot give an explanation for what happened that day, and I am sure that many can find "rationalizations" rooted in skepticism and "logic." But I know that a catering staff would hardly be off count by well over one hundred. I know that my mother faithfully served the God who fed five thousand with five loaves and fed four thousand with seven loaves. With basketfuls left over.
And I know that she took to heart the instruction—Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days (Ecclesiastes 11:1).
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