I had a dream the other night. One of those dreams that left me felt overwhelmed. I was standing stranded in a vast desert with only an empty water bottle, the sun beating down, and the horizon offering nothing but more sand. To be honest, I didn’t understand it at the time and hope that I never have that dream again.
As I prepared for this week’s blog post, it was so awesome to realize that it was the Gospel of Luke: the feeding of the five thousand (Luke 9:11b-17). We’ve probably all heard this story countless times. Jesus, surrounded by a massive crowd in a deserted place, their hunger growing as the day wore on.
The disciples, practical folks that they were, saw the problem and offered the most logical solution: “Dismiss the crowd so that they can go to the surrounding villages and farms and find lodging and provisions; for we are in a deserted place here.” Sound familiar? When faced with a big problem, our first instinct is often to push it away, to find a way to make it someone else’s issue, or to simply declare it impossible.
But Jesus’ response is what truly resonates: “Give them some food yourselves.” Can you imagine the looks on their faces? Five loaves and two fish for thousands of people? It felt utterly absurd, a recipe for utter failure. It’s like being asked to fill a stadium with a single pitcher of lemonade.
I remember a time, not too long ago, when I felt that same sense of overwhelming scarcity. My family was going through a particularly tough patch. Bills were piling up, unexpected expenses kept cropping up, and the anxiety was a constant knot in my stomach. I looked at our meager resources and felt that familiar desert closing in. I prayed, of course, but honestly, a big part of me just felt helpless. Like the disciples, I could only see the limitations, the impossibility of the situation.
But then, something shifted. Maybe it was a quiet moment during prayer, maybe it was a kind word from a friend, maybe it was just the slow dawning of a new perspective. I started to focus not on what we lacked, but on the small gifts we still had. A supportive community, our health, the simple joy of a shared meal. It wasn’t a magical fix, the bills didn't vanish overnight, but something within me began to change. The fear didn't disappear entirely, but it no longer held me captive.
This, I think, is where the beauty of the Gospel, and the wisdom of mindful living, truly intersect. Jesus didn’t magically conjure food out of thin air before the disciples’ eyes. He took what little they did have – the five loaves and two fish – and He blessed it. He looked up to heaven, acknowledging the source of all good things. And then, He broke it and gave it to the disciples to distribute.
Think about that for a moment. He worked through their seemingly insufficient offering. He didn’t bypass their humanity; He invited them into the miracle. And the result? Everyone ate and was satisfied, with twelve baskets of leftovers. More than enough.
This isn’t just a story about a miracle; it’s a powerful reminder that even in our most barren “desert places,” even when we feel we have nothing to offer, Christ can take our meager efforts, our limited resources, our very human vulnerabilities, and transform them into something abundant.
Mindfulness teaches us to be present to the reality of our experience, without judgment. To acknowledge our fears and limitations, yes, but also to notice the small sparks of hope, the glimmers of grace that are always present, even when they’re hard to see. It’s about recognizing the “five loaves and two fish” in our own lives, however small they may seem.
When we bring our whole selves, our honest limitations, to God, just as the disciples brought their meager provisions to Jesus, we open ourselves up to the possibility of something beyond our own understanding. He doesn’t always solve our problems in the way we expect, but He always offers sustenance, a deeper kind of nourishment that goes beyond the physical. It’s a spiritual abundance that fills the hunger in our hearts, the loneliness in our souls, the anxiety that gnaws at our peace.
And just like the disciples were then tasked with distributing the miraculous bread, we too are called to share the abundance we receive. Even when we feel we have little ourselves, the very act of reaching out, of offering a word of kindness, a helping hand, a listening ear, can be a way of spreading that divine nourishment to a world that is so often starving for connection, for hope, for love.
So, the next time you find yourself feeling like you’re in a deserted place, remember the five loaves and two fish. Remember the disciples’ initial feeling of inadequacy. And remember Jesus’ simple act of blessing and sharing. Trust that even with what seems like so little, with God, there is always, always more than enough.
