In the summer of 1991, shortly after the fall of communism, I spent three weeks in Russia with the People-to-People Student Ambassador Program: promoting peace through understanding. We did the tourist things, but our main purpose was to get to know the people and to build relationships with kids our own age.

Somewhere in the middle of that trip, we spent a few days in a small town called Minsk – or was it Smolensk? We visited both places, but one of them had an unforgettable bakery.

We stumbled upon this tiny bakery, and I discovered the most heavenly pastry I have ever tasted in my entire life. I could not imagine manna from heaven being any more enticing. I was immediately addicted. I walked from the hotel to that bakery a few times a day, getting as much as I could during our brief 2-3 day stay. I could not horde the stuff because it was made without preservatives.

I traveled to Russia when I was sixteen. I just turned 47. I only spent a few days in the small town with the small bakery, but I have dreamed about it often since then. What I wouldn’t give for one more bite.

A recent conversation about the Biblical manna from heaven has caused me to salivate all the more as I reminisce about the aroma, flavor, and texture of my Russian baked good. I was questioned how anyone could grumble about God’s bread from heaven.

Could there be anything better? How could anyone ever tire of something God gives?

There may not be anything better than God’s manna from heaven, but I came close the summer of 1991 when I wandered into that Russian bakery.

But I sympathize with those complaining Israelites. I love God and love sweet bread, but I do think I would wind up sniveling just as much. We can all be ungrateful SOBs sometimes. 😉

If given the opportunity, I would walk several times a day, stand in line, and eat more even if not hungry – in an unfamiliar territory, in a culture and language I did not know or understand – even given the extremely volatile state of affairs currently plaguing Russia.

BUT . . . and this is a BIG but . . . if you asked me to go out every morning to gather the ingredients and to make it myself, I would say, “Nah. That’s okay. I’ll eat this moldy, stale bread instead.”

Yep! I hate cooking that much. I would go through a lot for my manna from Russia, but I would not make it myself – not even if it meant I could have something that amazing any time I wanted it and in the comfort of my own home.

It’s true – the thought of having to cook every single day, even for something heavenly, is enough to turn me into a sniveling, whining, ungrateful human being.

What we tend to forget – or teach – is that manna from heaven did not rain down as readymade Russian sweet bread. It was like coriander seed that they had to gather and prepare themselves – every single day – except for the Sabbath. They collected TWICE as much the day before so that they would not have to work on the Sabbath. If they gathered too much, it would go bad by the next day.

Manna from heaven may have been truly divine, but it did not come easily or for free. It required effort on the Israelites part.

What I appreciate about the manna story is that God did not simply hand out food to the Israelites. They did not stand in line, pick out their yummy sweets, and enjoy it at their leisure with their friends and family.

No.

God expected them to participate in the experience with Him.

It was a partnership.

A relationship.

The story of the manna reminds me that life can sometimes be scary and uncertain. They had no food. No water. No way to take care of themselves.

Then Moses prayed and God answered.

He did not answer the way they may have wanted. No ordering from DoorDash and waiting for their driver to miraculously bring them a meal. Nope. God invited them into the kitchen with Him. He even invited them to go to the grocery store with Him.

Together.

And in community.

Some may have enjoyed the shopping. Others may have enjoyed the cooking. Some, like me, may have only wanted to show up for the eating and were more than happy to clean up after the meal. But they were called to work as a team.

In partnership.

As One.

July 4 celebration – amazing conglomeration of two cultures. I learned differences are beautiful and language barriers do not prohibit love and glasnost.

Moscow or St. Petersburg – we found “American” food – Pizza Hut and McDonalds – and learned tourists are fed and treated differently (often better) than the citizens. (Catering to those with money – common theme worldwide.)