Believing God for hummus and a knife 

“A chai tea and a wheat bagel with hummus to go, please.”

Voices behind me grew louder and the girls in front of me got busier. I stood aside waiting for my freshly brewed fix.

As I rounded the parking lot I thought, “I really hope she didn’t forget the hummus. Sometimes they do that. Should I pull over and check?” I accelerated.

Just a song’s distance and I was at my desk.


With one eye open, skin cringing and expectation of disappointment growing, I pulled out my warm, toasted bagel. Then (hold your breath) the hummus.

With the hovering scent of  warm, wheat goodness, I thought, “The line was busy; the bagel took a long time. The girl probably forgot the knife.”

Without even checking, I expected to be let down. So, I got my own knife from the kitchen.

As I pulled off the bread’s thin wrapping, a white plastic knife stared back at me.


I do this with God all the time. 

I set my standards low and step into situations  with gritted teeth, one eye closed, bracing for let down.

I rationalize away God’s ability to provide. I tell myself “Alexis, He might forget this time, so don’t be crushed if it doesn’t happen, okay?”

What does this disposition prove, other than the truth that part of me doubts God and the other part remains only halfheartedly hopeful?

The God I serve is able to do “exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think” (Eph. 3:20). He says, “Test me in this, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it” Malachi 3:10.

Yet, I choose cautious hopefulness.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he answers the most basic of my needs, like a knife.

But God gives me no reason for cringing, gritting, halfhearted hope! He’s never proven Himself anything but unswervingly faithful, overwhelmingly loving and exorbitantly generous.

Yet even while I deal with the sins that blind me from confident faith, He’s brewing the chai. He’s heating up the bagel, and He’s spreading the hummus. He’s nestling the utensil I need right where I need it.




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