Daily Bread Over Daily Fireworks

Breakfast has always been my favorite meal. Few things beat a hotel breakfast buffet or a late-morning brunch—the kind you can pile savory and sweet on the same plate. Or better yet, leftover chapati and curry from the night before. That’s the kind of breakfast I get excited about.

But most mornings my breakfast isn’t very exciting. A bowl of cooked oatmeal. Some toast with almond butter and a smoothie. Maybe scrambled eggs if I have a little more time. Nothing glamorous, nothing memorable. Yet if I stopped eating, I’d notice. Those ordinary meals are what actually carry me through.

Devotions are like that too.

The Problem With Wonder

I often find myself opening my Bible, looking for wonder. I want that verse that leaps off the page, that passage that feels tailor-made for my situation. I long for that wow moment; a word that speaks directly to my day, an insight so sharp and so deep I could build a sermon around it. And I love the times that happens.

But many days it doesn’t. God still speaks through His Word, but not always in dazzling ways. Not with the fireworks I sometimes hope for. When that happens, I can feel discouraged. I start to wonder if I’ve done something wrong, or worse, I’m tempted to skip devotions altogether. If there’s no wow moment, why bother? Why settle for something that feels ordinary?

Which makes me think of manna.

When the Israelites first stepped out of their tents and saw food on the ground, I imagine there was awe. Bread from heaven—food falling from the sky! Wonder must have filled their hearts and spilled from their lips.

Manna wasn’t always wonderful, but it was always enough.

But that wonder didn’t last long. Within a short time frame manna became ordinary (Num. 21:5). It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t gourmet. But it was nourishment. It miraculously sustained them every single day of their wilderness journey.

That’s what a devotional life often looks like. Not daily fireworks, but daily bread (Matt. 6:11). And that’s not a problem—it’s the point.

The Ordinary Means of Grace

Methodist reformer John Wesley once called the disciplines of prayer, Scripture, and Communion the “ordinary means of grace.” I like that phrase because it keeps my expectations in check. Grace doesn’t always come with bells and whistles. Grace shows up in the ordinary (Matt. 5:45).

A bowl of oatmeal may not thrill me, but it fuels me. In the same way, a morning in the Word may not light me up, but it still feeds me. God has chosen to meet us through these ordinary means. And sometimes it’s only later that we realize how much those ordinary moments mattered.

Not long ago I read the story of Jesus’ transfiguration in my morning devotion and thought it was good. I believed God was speaking through it. But it didn’t feel especially relevant to me in that moment. It wasn’t one of those mornings I closed my Bible thinking, Wow, that was exactly what I needed today. It just felt . . . ordinary.

A week later my wife was weighed down with stress, and that same passage came to mind. Suddenly, what had seemed plain at the time became the very encouragement she needed. God had already provided the food—I just hadn’t realized it yet. What felt ordinary was quietly doing its work, preparing me for a moment I couldn’t see coming, to bless someone else.

Every so often God does give me a glimpse of how extraordinary His grace really is. A verse comes alive; a prayer moves me deeply. But even when it doesn’t, the manna is still there. The Word still nourishes and sustains.

May we remember to stop treating wonder as the measure of God’s presence. Wonder is a gift, but not a guarantee. Manna wasn’t always wonderful, but it was always enough.