I am trying to picture the scene. Thousands of people in the desert. Sun just rising. The ground covered in what looks like crackers or really thin communion bread. The people take baskets and pick up this bread from the ground. They do not know what it is (some define Manna as “What is it?”; others refer to as coming from the term for lice – I’ll go with “What is it?), but they know from whom it came. And they know they are to gather only what they need for that day or for two if the Sabbath is coming. Manna – a day’s food.

It is easy for me to want the days before me to be laid out neatly with exactly what blessings will come when. What will each day’s writing practice bring? When will the job I need come through? How will I see the people I want to see when I want to see them? I want so much to know how all of this blessing comes together. I would love to see the plan set out ahead of me.

But I have not been given more than today. I cannot see tomorrow much less next month or next year. I have today, and it is enough. All the blessing I need – a sunset so brilliant it forces me to stop the car and stare, pictures of children sent to cheer me, the words of a friend to make me laugh. All the words I need to read and write for the day. All here, today, in this period of time when I am awake to see them. All I need – my Manna. Laid out as gift before me for me to gather.

If I will but gather . . .

Photos of children with flowers. Friends’ jokes. Sunsets. What blessings might you gather today?