It didn't take this pandemnic to expose my hidden hoarder. That distinction belongs to a low-wattage bare light bulb that hung in the hallway of our apartment in Moscow when we were there in 1993.

The first time it went missing, I assumed it had burnt out and maintenance would replace it. A couple of days later, the bulb was gone, burnt out again? Or more likely removed by another apartment dweller for his entryway, my husband pointed out.

Every evening when we returned from a full day of ministry, I stepped off the elevator, turned down the hall and either breathed a sigh of relief—the light bulb was still there or grumbled because it was gone again.

Strangely enough, I wanted to hoard light bulbs. Why? Well, I never knew night by night whether of not there would be a light bulb there. And by the time we got home, I was tired and didn't want to be missionary flexible. I wanted the light bulb in the socket and shining bright.

It got to the point where I needed a stack of them right inside our apartment door, ready to give one to the woman who zealously guarded the entrance to the apartment building, and apparently, our light bulb as well. We overhead her agruing with someone about the Americans one day, and after that, our bare light bulb stayed put. I guess no one messed with that Babushka. So my hoarder when back into hiding.

But here we are in the middle of this pandemic.

And I find that my hidden hoarder is fond of hoarding more than light bulbs or flour. Under normal cicumstances, two dozen eggs would seem like a lot, but these days, well, you never know, do you?

And as I think back to the light bulbs on the other side of the world, I realize that there are other kinds of hoarding. I can easily hoard my time, somehow making "me-time" sound spiritual instead of selfish. I turn my focus inward. Well, I self-justifiy, I don't want to burnout or run out of energy, money, light bulbs.

To make things last longer, I tend to fall into a mindset of rationing. Don't use too much of whatever...

If I use less, what I have will last longer. A little goes a long way. Why did I throw out my More with Less Cookbook from the Mennonite Central Committee?

But God doesn't work that way.

A portion of one of the prayers in Wendell Hawley's book A Pastor Prays for His People says:

Praise be to God, we are never placed on some “quota” system—
You have never said to any of your beloved,
“That’s all the grace you get, lest I run out.”
No, never . . . never!

From his overflowing kindness and abounding grace and mercy, God invites my not-so-hidden hoarder to a feast.

Come to the table and dine. Taste the immeasurable riches of his grace. And that inner hoarder of my mine dwindles under the lavish goodness of God. Goodness that knows no bounds and can't be stopped by any germ or my miserly approach to light bulbs or kindness. When soaking in the light, you don't really need a light bulb anyway.

In this feast, in this light, I am renewed, refreshed and restored.