Bread

The holidays are over. All our family has left. Sister Mandy is now in Namibia. Mike's parents are at their house in Pennsylvania and my parents are on the plane to Seattle. Chris is back in Seattle. School starts on Monday for the girls and Mike to work.

So, I did the only logical thing today to transition back to life's schedule. I made bread. Rye bread. Rye sourdough bread. It is lovely. I don't know yet what it tastes like, but it is one of those perfect breads. It came together lovely. It had just the right mixture of moisture and flours. It rose just right, not cracking or losing shape. I slashed it in a star shape and brushed on an egg yolk-milk mixture. And it baked to a beautiful deep brown.

Bread is life. Jesus tells us that and takes it even deeper: he is the bread of life. And the communal act of preparing and sharing food is universal and draws people into conversation and sharing. But, as a baker of bread for over 10 years, I can also tell you that every loaf of bread is different, just as every day is a surprise. Sometimes the day goes perfectly, like my rye bread. Other days are out of joint, rising too fast or too much oven spring or gooey in the center. Yet, consume each day slowly, savor and enjoy even the too salty ones because each day is precious, unique and can never be duplicated exactly.