A Little Heavy…

My oldest child has corn, soy, and tomato allergies. This makes getting food at the local supermarket a challenge. So, I’ve been dabbling in more cooking than I ever thought I would.

I’ve returned to two old favorites: bread and pancakes. The twist I’ve been doing is using only whole wheat flour.

My first experiment yesterday was the bread. My mom got me a gently-used bread machine. I cleaned it up and followed the recipe except I used all whole wheat flour. By the time I picked the kids up from school, they had a snack of homemade bread.

They loved it. I wasn’t as pleased. It felt heavy and moist and dense. It wasn’t the light and fluffy yet filling stuff I remembered my grandmother making.

I also tried pancakes this morning. I followed the recipe. I knew the batter was too thick. So I added more milk until it “looked right.” You have to understand that I hate that phrase: looked right. My mother used, both my grandmothers used it, and I think I’ve heard it from everyone born before 1950. With my brain wiring, I need simple directions, and “looked right” is anything but simple.

Somehow, in the midst of making everything from scratch, I started thinking about all the things that make us too heavy or make us not look right. It isn’t a physical heaviness or aberration I was considering. It was an emotional and spiritual heaviness or aberration.

It’s the flour of too much on our agendas and not enough mercy in our hearts. It’s the yeast of discontentment, discouragement, and criticism instead of peace, love, and joy. It’s the lard of too much money and chemicals instead of the oil of caring and sharing. It’s a fake moisture of using people to get things instead of using things to help people.

And in the midst of all this pondering, the still, small Voice reminded me of another bread:

Very truly I tell you, the one who believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which anyone may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world. (John 6:47-51)

When I live with my focus on my still, small Voice and listen to His Words and contemplate His commands, I eat this living bread. This living bread allows me to reflect His light and His glory to the rest of the world. And that, my friends, satisfies my every longing like nothing else could ever do.


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