But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, therefore I will hope in him.” [Lamentations 3:21-24 (ESV)]
“The Lord is my portion,” wrote the prophet Jeremiah. Throughout the Bible, a wide variety of metaphors are used to describe God— rock, refuge, shield, shepherd, fortress, potter, and light—but portion is one of my favorites. Portion refers to one’s share—be it of plunder, an inheritance, or food. Not being a soldier, I can’t relate to the spoils of war and I’ve seen way too many inheritances argued over or squandered to associate those meanings with God. Food, however, is something to which we all can relate.
Indeed, God is our portion—our nourishment—He is what fills and fuels us. As our portion, He’s not one of those amuse-bouche one-bite treats served in fancy restaurants to whet our appetites nor is He a snack to tide us over until the real meal arrives. He’s not a first course like soup or salad, not a side dish to accompany the main course, and He’s most definitely not that decorative garnish so often left behind on our plates. God certainly isn’t our dessert, enjoyed only if we’ve saved room and which, while looking delicious, rarely lives up to its promise. He’s not even our entrée—the roast beast or tofu of our lives. No, God is our entire portion—our soup to nuts—our all. He’s our breakfast, lunch and dinner rolled into one. He is what gives us sustenance and strength. He is our all-sufficient, our confidence, our comfort and hope. Moreover, unlike earthly portions that disappear as they are consumed and leave us hungry again a few hours later, God keeps our plates filled to the brim and will satisfy our souls forever. He continually replenishes us with His mercy, guidance, love, and forgiveness.
They were sailing in the Sea of Galilee, a body of water notorious for sudden violent storms. At least four of the disciples were fishermen; did none of them question Jesus about the possibility of squalls or rough waters? Jesus, being God and omniscient, surely knew a storm was brewing and yet He told the men to take the boat across the sea. As the squall came rolling in, the disciples fought the waves. While they frantically reefed the sails and bailed water, Jesus calmly slept on a cushion in the boat’s stern. To the terrified disciples it seemed as if He didn’t care that they were going to drown.
Hoping to get a good cardio workout, I’d ramped up the resistance and programmed the machine for a variety of hills, some of which were real killers. Whenever I glanced down at the screen, I groaned at what lay ahead of me. No matter where I was in the program, I was already looking ahead and dreading the next big challenge. Every time I looked at the timer, I lamented the length of time remaining for this self-inflicted torture. After placing my towel over the screen, the workout seemed easier. No longer able to see the hills or time remaining, I stopped dreading the next challenge and the ones after that. I just pumped away, secure in the knowledge that, eventually, my workout would be over.
When I was young, back in the 1950s, sex education pretty much consisted of some talk about bees pollinating flowers. Married couples on television didn’t sleep in the same bed and husbands always seemed completely surprised when wives announced a baby was arriving. As a little girl, I naively thought marriage (not intercourse) was what produced babies and that God put babies in a woman’s tummy once she was married.
It’s that time of year again. Signs in stores say it, holiday lights in yards and on rooftops proclaim it, and we might greet one another in church with it. We send out cards with its message, sing of it and, yet, we’re bereft of it. We think we’ll have it when our chores are done, the cards mailed, the house cleaned, the tree decorated, the lights up, the cookies baked, the gifts purchased, the packages wrapped, and the bills paid. We sure we’ll get it if we reach our destination without delay or losing luggage or once our children arrive safely home. As long as everyone stays healthy, no food gets burnt, nothing is broken, politics isn’t discussed, no one gets drunk, and the back-ordered gift arrives in time, we’re sure to have it then. Yet, even when everything goes as planned (and believe me it won’t), it seems to escape us.
Devotions of the Heart 