Frost on the Ground

When manna looks weird, or fake, or like not enough

So often, in our wilderness lives, we don’t actually know what we need. We think we do, but we don’t. We also know what we don’t need, or at least we’re stubbornly confident in thinking so.

But God often has other plans.

During Spring Break, a few weeks ago, we experienced a not-uncommon phenomenon in March in Windy Wyoming: a few tranquil, bright, truly warm days. People headed outside with winter on the brain and, quite soon, began sweating, quickly shedding layers and putting on smiles. Kids pulled out shorts and happily ran around on the mostly brown grass with bare feet. Bushed and trees pushed out tiny curling tendrils of green. Perennial buds peeked and poked their verdant life out of gray rocks. Walkers and bikers and porch-sitters soaked in the sun. Grills wafted scents of juicy burgers and steaks. It felt—dare I say it?—like summer.

Then clouds gathered and temperatures plunged, the way they are wont to do in early Spring. The breeze picked up and the wind became chill. Then the air stilled. Small, sparkling wet began to fall, first intermittently, and then more steadily. What looked like soft rain became snow. And the ground, springing forth lush, pastoral promise a day or two before, was now covered with white blankets of winter.

I thought of this last week, as we heard about those poor, short-memoried Israelites, moping and complaining in the wilderness.

And they journeyed from Elim, and all the congregation of the children of Israel came to the Wilderness of Sin, which is between Elim and Sinai, on the fifteenth day of the second month after they departed from the land of Egypt. Then the whole congregation of the children of Israel complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. And the children of Israel said to them, “Oh, that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pots of meat and when we ate bread to the full! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you. And the people shall go out and gather a certain quota every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in My law or not. And it shall be on the sixth day that they shall prepare what they bring in, and it shall be twice as much as they gather daily.”

Did you notice what happened there? Those—excuse me—spoiled brats, who’d just been freed from 400 years of slavery in Egypt, who’d been led out of the land by Almighty God Himself in a pillar of fire and cloud, who’d literally walked through the sea on dry ground because God split the waters and held them back, were whining about—not getting enough to eat. About missing the food they used to get when they were, you know, otherwise engaged in forced labor with no recourse. And they then accused God of not only not providing their preferred repasts but of actively trying to starve them. Because after all those other awesome deeds, God was probably plumb out of energy and couldn’t muster up the victuals, or He just suddenly decided that He’d done enough. Feeding them was probably just too much for Him. After all those miracles and all that trouble, now He just wanted to be rid of them. The meany!

Sarcasm aside, God’s reaction to this collective tantrum was even more incredible. He didn’t erupt in fury or punish His people with the fire and brimstone they deserved. No. Instead, He immediately promised His children bread. And not just any bread, but bread that would rain down from heaven.

Our God is no ordinary god.

Shortly thereafter, God promised to send meat, too. Meat! In addition to the bread! And we got this passage:

So it was that quail came up at evening and covered the camp, and in the morning the dew lay all around the camp. And when the layer of dew lifted, there, on the surface of the wilderness, was a small round substance, as fine as frost on the ground. So when the children of Israel saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was.

“As fine as frost on the ground.” God’s provision doesn’t always—or even usually—look like what we think. We think Spring comes, and that means growth and warmth and promise, and then we get clouds and cold and snow. But what does this snow do? It adorns the mountains and drifts over the silent rocks. It melts and runs down steep streams that flow into roaring creeks. It gives long, slow, freezing drinks to the thirsty trees. It feeds the bulbs and seeds that sleep under the dirt.

It even wards off fires in the long time off summer.

Source.

We are spoiled brats, too. He didn’t have to make us or sustain us at all, yet here we are. And what do we do? We whine for daily bread, too, for us and for our children. Sometimes we get seed-stuffed organic loaves, and sometimes He gives us WIC. We whine for clothing, and sometimes He gives us hand-loomed cotton and Converse, and sometimes He gives us second-hand (or third-, or fourth-hand) wear. The thing is, even when we live piously and faithfully, and our cries are the best intentioned and in line with God’s will for us, sometimes He still gives us provision that confuses or frustrates or burdens us.

Manna has become synonymous with great and abundant blessing, and for good reason. But it is also weird, and probably seemed like fake food, to the Israelites. The light, feathery stuff just didn’t send strong vibes of “enough nutrients here to get you through this desert.”

But that’s exactly what it was for and what it did do. God’s provision always does what it says: it provides. We might think it smells weird, or it embarrasses us, or it breaks our illusions of self-sufficiency and success. But it gives us what we need, always.

In the days and weeks ahead, the skies will still give us snow. That’s what happens in Wyoming in April and often after. It might not seem to fit with the Spring we expect. But the frost on the ground is for us. We will ask “What is it?” and hopefully, tentatively, open our hearts for a taste of what He gives.