It nourishes. And it teaches.
I don't need to share with you my common tale of woe. Who really cares but me and my God? But there has been real heartbreak in my life this week - hard lessons, dearly learned.
I've cried till my head aches.
And I have spent hours in the kitchen, kneeding bread - cooking, baking - thanking God for something to keep my mind occupied, my hands busy.
Part of my life is feeding my sourdough starter twice a day.
It's a ritual, like having a pet in a jar. I love it, and I care for it. But today...today was the first time I wept over it.
Nothing I can do myself will ever change a bowl of flour and water into something so complexly nourishing that my entire body benefits from it.
I can add flavor, provide optimium conditions, kneed it with tender care and strong hands, but without life, it will always just be a bowl of flour and water.
Life I can't see is swimming in the air around me. I add warm water to a handful of ground up grain and it becomes a sponge that can literally suck up life and feed it.
What goodness! What providence is this?
I can't make a sourdough starter. All I can do is feed what someone else brought to life. And as I contemplated the sorry state of my dashed hopes, I saw myself in that jar of bubbly, living goo.
I realized I am as lifeless and hard as a handful of flour.
What kind of lesson did your breakfast teach you this morning?