"Hey Tony, do you and Eric like Raisin Bran?"

Tony shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know."

"Eric?"

Eric screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue, "Uck! I've had that kind of cereal before...at school. It's full of big bugs!"

I looked up, "Those are the raisins."

We were sitting on my front stoop and I was thinking about the huge box of cereal that was lying on the back seat of my car.

"Someone gave me a whole bunch of those little boxes of Raisin Bran." I went on, "Do you guys want to take some home."

The boys looked skeptical but I pointed at my car and Tony caught the keys as I threw them in his direction. When he saw all the little boxes his face lit up.

"Yeah, yeah I want some!" He began to stack the boxes on top of each other. "Do you have a bag?"

For a boy in this inner city neighborhood there aren't many times when you get a crack at a pile of food that is bigger than you could ever eat. Tony wasn't reveling in the Raisin Bran, he was reveling in the fact that there was more than enough and he could take as much as he wanted.

"I don't even like this kind of cereal!" His voice nearly sang, "Can you get me another bag so I can have more?"

"Sure." I knew this was about more than cereal.

"I already have twelve boxes!" He waved a packed plastic bag in the air.

Like Tony I have the same need to find something that doesn't run out. A stockpile where I can take as much as I want…even more than I need. I wish for a place where I can push the envelope and just sink into excess. To be guilty of overindulging in a gratuitous amount of security and comfort is dream for me.

If there has been a refrain in my life it would simply be, "More. We just need a little more." A little more faith when my own supply has dwindled down to the very last drop. Just a couple more dollars when the ministry is struggling. I've bargained and even begged for vans to pick up the kids with, only to realize that we don't have the resources to care for them or adults to drive them. I've felt lonely and anxious and wished that people would pour a little more sympathy on me. I've stared at the alarm clock and groggily pleaded for one more hour of sleep. I've looked at my faithful volunteers and wondered what we could do if we just had...more.

And then I remember Jesus. In the face of all I lack there he is. He pours his own brand of surplus all over my life. It's not what I had imagined and sometimes not even the things I'd hoped for, but it is a steady stream of goodness, power, comfort and compassion. And like a boy who packed a plastic grocery bag with cereal I've learned to fill my life with all God has to give. I talk to him in the middle of the night and whisper his name every time I'm scared. I cover my days with his grace and bury my bad choices in his forgiveness. I lay out my frustrations and fears knowing that he's not weary of my weakness and humanity. I cry tears that only he's heard and repeat words from a book that gives me hope and speaks to my exhaustion. I've wept into those same pages out of pure gratitude. I ask him to heal my friend who has cancer and in the same breath I include an impassioned plea that he will make my dog listen better and help him not to bark so much. He's the theme of my songs and the reason for my celebrations. And when I'm sad I serve him my questions and even riddle him with my anger, always to find he's still beside me. He fills my days in ways that make be want to "get another bag" and go fill up again. So I do...and he does.

But even so I understand a boy like Tony because we still don't have vans for the kids, often the ministry squeaks by and I continue to entertain the dream of a few more volunteers. Loneliness still finds me and some days I'm just tired of working so hard. Even in the arms of a God who is vast, my life leaks through all the holes and lacks. But for everything I lose he continues to pour himself into me, guarding my soul and sustaining my heart until the moment when he will be all there is. And we will rest in the arms that are everything.

Even the Raisin Bran will run out and the back seat of my car will finally be empty again but this hope I claim, these arms that carry us close...these are inexhaustible. God is forever and his compassion is measureless. Get another bag...take all you need.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2004