Is filling the world with the warm aroma of his love.

For a summer in college I lived across the street from a panadería in Lima. Every morning I’d walk out the front door to be greeted by the alluring scent of fresh bread and pastries. So I’d cross the street for breakfast.

Few things in this world are as satisfying as fresh baked carbs.

Is completely understandable when people before you saw signs. Often we read stories in the Bible of people asking for signs—like Thomas, or the crowd who just arrived from Tiberias—and take their requests for signs as a lack of faith. Or, perhaps worse, we take Jesus’ responses to them as dismissive or disappointed. Really, they’re just asking for the same amazing experience that everyone else had. They just feel left out.

So don’t feel bad asking for signs. You might not get exactly what you’re looking for, of course. But you will get something. Heck, you might even get more than you ask for.

Sometimes some people talk about believing as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s as natural as breathing. And some days I agree with them.

But some days my soul feels asthmatic. As if each breath of faith must be fought for while trying not to panic.

Is really important. Perhaps that goes without saying, but we don’t always do it. We skim. We try to get the gist of it. We scan for keywords. But there’s nothing like reading the whole thing.

Take this single sentence from Jesus as a case study.

“Do not work.” This might be just the kind of good news you’ve been looking for if you’ve wanted an excuse to quit your job and sleep in more.

“Do not work for food.” Of course not! We also work for shelter and clothing and taxes and all the fancy amenities of modern life. Some of us even work because the work itself is gratifying. If we get all of the above, we’re the real winners.

Everyone realizes in their own time.

Everyone arrives at their own speed.

Everyone searches out of their own hunger.

My job is to be patient.

To be present with people in such a way that when I am gone, there is a lingering sense that something significant must have happened. Because Jesus was with me.

To welcome those who arrived “too late,” who missed the big thing that others are still buzzing about. Because Jesus did something amazing, but he is not done doing.

To help people along their journey, to help them get from here to there (wherever “there” might be) in just the right boats. Because they will find Jesus if they keep searching for him.

This is long, patient work.

Not just in the destination. And not because the journey is so easy, but precisely the opposite: challenge brings its own kind of joy.

The longer I try to live a life of faith, the more I believe this to be true. And the more I see the story John tells about the feeding of the 5,000 and the subsequent travel as a prime metaphor for what a life with him is like: challenging and joyful.

Off into the mountains, and there’s nothing left for you to do at the end of the day but head home. So off into the dark you go. Without your dynamic leader. And, of course, of all the nights, a storm is brewing. Heading home exhausted and alone, with the wind blowing the rain straight through your clothes, thinking about how Jesus brought you out here to perform such an amazing miracle only to ditch you in the cold wet dark after you’ve faithfully served him and others all day long, well…

That’s the worst kind of way to head home. What a buzz kill.

Is hard work these days. Maybe it’s always been hard work, but I can’t help but believe that our hyper-connected, image-obsessed culture has raised the game mode from normal to brutal.

There is always someone—or a crowd of someones—eager to make you in their image. To force you into a mold of their design. They have strong opinions about who you are, about who you could be. They’re here to help you become the next big thing. And it may actually sound quite enticing. But if it sounds too good to be true, it’s because it is. If it feels like they’re playing on your insecurities, it’s because they are. If the means seem sketchy and the end seems fake, it’s because they are. If it feels like a trap, it’s because it is.

Sometimes it’s all just loaves and fishes. The most we have to bring is less than the bare minimum needed. But it’s what we’ve got. 

The good news is that God is a God of miracles and multiplication. In giving away the little we have, more is received. 

That you bring to the table. Your meager resources. Your scraped-together offerings. Your thin margins of time. Your few ounces of compassion. Your seemingly-insignificant good deeds. Your whispered kind words.

He takes them and gives thanks. Just like the little boy’s lunch.