Do you ever feel this need to live life in scarcity mode rather than one of abundant offering? When I open up our fridge I begin rationing out the food out of fear that I will use up everything too quickly and be without. But what happens in my attempt to control and operate out of scarcity? Food spoils and goes rancid.
Could my attempt of control and mode of scarcity lead to my inability to see the gift in the offering?
I liken my garden as a sacred space. God welcomes me there, and shows me that it’s okay if I burned the landscape fabric holes too closely together. He shows me that it’s okay that I forgot to shade my young seedling plant starts outside to harden only to get scorched by the sun. You see, he isn’t there criticizing my mistakes or taking note of how I didn’t do it right.
He is like the mother who delights in a scraggly, drooping bouquet of dandelions from her child. He doesn’t want us to withhold sharing the gift for fear of not getting enough Instagram “likes.” Rather, he simply wants us to offer up the gift.
Living in a state of scarcity and filling every empty space leaves me clawing my way through life. Out of fear, scarcity creeps in. I live out of it, out of the clawing, the digging deeper, and I run myself ragged. If I can’t offer up my gift perfectly I’d rather hide it away. It leads me to walking the tight rope of perfection, working to achieve a status given to me by people instead of my sweet Jesus.
What is your mode of scarcity, self-preservation and protection?
You see, I know deep in my ache, my empty table, my song unshared, my canvas hidden in my closet, all of this art waiting to be shared as an offering has a risk. A lot of the time, I feel more safe keeping the ache to myself, withholding the bouquet for fear of ridicule. I fear sharing my table because I am a dripping mess.
But what if instead of operating out of a mode of scarcity, we began to see the abundance we have in our broken hallelujahs?
I offer up this prayer for those of us who need the Potter’s hands to transform our clay souls of scarcity into a vessel of abundance:
Lord, Our Maker,
Our blank canvases, our clay caked garden souls don’t overwhelm you.
As we, your children scurry, trying to clean up our mess,
You patiently stand there waiting for us to invite you in.
Oh Father, you delight in helping us, even when we make the mess.
We binge eat our art, hoard our offerings in our closets, because we have believed Satan’s lie, “You Are Not Enough.”
Oh Father, we invite you into our art studios, our gardens, our kitchens, into the bedroom of our souls, where we take the muck and the mire, and offer it up like the wretched man who beat his chest and cried to you, “I’m not worthy.”
You called this worship.
You are the one who provided honey out of the carcass of the lion.
You are the one who gave the woman at the well a new name.
You are the one who opens up our closets and pulls out the ashes to make beauty.
You are the one who turns deserts into gardens.
May we not hoard our art, our stories for fear of rejection.
Rather, may we freely offer out of abundance, because You are the Good Shepherd who never leaves anything to waste.
You prepare the table before us and you invite us to come to eat with you.