Hitting a Wall

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It's not easy being a rhino's wife.

What do rhinos do? They charge, feet thumping, shoulders shoving through the brush, making a path where none existed a moment ago. My rhino, my husband, is a dreamer. He sees things in 3D that most people would dare not see. He charges the moment God says "go," and he does so without question. To watch him charge leaves me speechless, and it makes for a life that's exciting and adventurous but also dangerous, exhausting, and risky beyond description.

This evening, we are enduring disappointment. We'd been hoping for a certain warehouse. So much food is coming in--literal truckloads of it--yet there is little space for it. In the meantime, our time at the Manna House (i.e., our two offices, the prep kitchen, and the place from which we distribute food boxes during the week) is nearly up. We're down to the wire when it comes to finding a new location. This particular warehouse seemed perfect. We thought for sure the deal with the landlord would go through, but in the end it came to nothing. Now we need a miracle.

Our budget is ridiculously limited. Most people would laugh if they knew how much money we bring in each month. It's astounding that we're in operation at all. In this economic crunch, people are happy and willing to help out via their time, labor, and prayers, but they're not opening their checkbooks. Thus we can't simply pack our stuff and move into any old warehouse. Like I said, we need a miracle.

And yet we've seen miracles. Again and again. Just two and a half years ago, Kenny and I were pushing a wagon full of muffins and bagels into Tent City and doing the occasional hot meal for the homeless, and that was the extent of Manna Cafe. Today, we're giving away thousands upon thousands of pounds of food on a regular basis. We're in awe of what God is doing on a daily basis. And yet we've hit this wall, and it's a formidable one, and I'm reeling.

Kenny told me the news just an hour ago. I was immediately sick with disappointment. Being the (recovering) codependent that I am, I quickly shifted my focus onto how to make it all better. Kenny's disillusionment was palpable. I wanted to fix things. NOW. My rhino has hit a wall at full speed, I thought. What the heck do I do to make it better?

But then he said something that put the breath back in my lungs, though until that point I didn't realize I had stopped breathing. "If I have to set up a hot dog stand," he said, "I can't stop feeding people."

Okay, then. We get up, shake the dust off, and wait for the next directive. I don't know how to do this thing--this "being a rhino's wife" thing. I can only take one moment at a time. And this difficult moment will pass, and we'll see the miraculous again--perhaps even tonight or tomorrow--because we must. Because this is an impossible task that we've been called to do. Because quitting is not an option.