If I had my way I’d store up grace like green beans-stacking one can atop the other “just in case”.
Then I could decide if and when to open it up and pour it out.
But grace isn’t like that. It’s a perishable though infinite commodity-like manna.

When God led the Israelites into the desert, He promised to feed, nurture and sustain them.
Daily bread rained down from Heaven every morning-enough and more than enough-for their needs. But He warned them not to gather more than they could use THAT day.
He promised there would be another bountiful plenty the next morning.

Faced with the choice to trust God or trust themselves, some tried to hoard this gift and guarantee (so they thought!) tomorrow’s bounty. It turned to maggoty mush by the next morning.
God was making a point.
He wanted His people to know that He was the Source of their provision. He wanted His people to learn that His faithful love endures forever and shows up every morning.
Many of us grew up reciting this blessing without understanding the deep truth hidden inside:
God is great,
God is good,
Let us thank Him for our food.
By His hand we all are fed,
Thank You, Lord, for daily bread.
Children’s Blessing
Few of us live on daily bread anymore.
Most have pantries and refrigerators and freezers full of food. It’s hard to hearken back to a time when the penny you earned for working a field was the penny you used to purchase that day’s meal.
So, in some ways, the idea of having only enough and no more is both foreign and frightening.

But my Father wants me to trust Him, to lean on Him, to wake looking for His face and reaching for His provision.
Like manna in the desert, if I try to gather more grace than I need it rots before I can use it.
God greets me each morning with the grace I need for that day-no more, no less. It is always enough for the work I must do and the challenges I must face.

He nurtures and sustains me.
His daily grace is sufficient.
I can rest in His bountiful provision without fear for tomorrow because His faithful love endures forever.
