Bread Making.
The day just seemed to be right.
Cold.
Sunshine attempting to pierce through the dark.
The house would benefit from the extra warmth.
The recipe makes two loaves.
Bread making was not part of my family tradition.
Baking was.
Our kitchen would be filled with the smells of my dad making Grandma’s Sugar cookies.
He would dazzle us with pies and Sunday dinners fit for a king.
So naturally when I married into a farm family, I would accept the culinary challenge of bread making.
Oh, My. Gosh.
I remember that first loaf.
The size of a large brick.
The weight of one too.
How gracious my in laws were.
Making fun of me.
Sharing the story with others.
But eating that first loaf as if it were an offering of highest value.
I would learn from that loaf.
Bread making is an Art.
I would try other recipes.
And fail many times.
Even after years of baking bread, a friend gave me a roll recipe and I still struggle to make the light, fluffy rolls she does.
The gift of a bread machine would take the kneading burden from me.
I still enjoyed baking the dough in a loaf pan.
I quickly out grew the bread machine and passed that on to someone else.
Trading the machine for kneading myself.
It’s been a while since I made bread regularly.
I had forgotten how soothing the process is.
The kneading of bread is critical to the process.
The yeast must be worked in, carefully, throughout the dough.
Working with the dough is healing and cathartic.
There is a rhythm.
A pace.
I pray as I work.
I love the feeling of the dough in my hands.
I can tell how light, or heavy it has become.
I know this will be good dough.
The dough needs to rest now.
Soon it will double in size.
The yeast doing it’s work.
Quietly.
While we wait.
When we wait upon God, he does the work needed.
Quietly.
While we wait.
When we trust Him with the hard; he works His will.
Quietly.
While we wait.
The heat from the stove takes the chill out of the house.
The dough rises and I divide it into two loaves.
I let them rise again for a few more moments.
Just until the dough crests the top of the pan.
The windows fog from the cold outside.
I set the timer.
The house is filled with the scent of baking bread.
The farm boy comes in for lunch.
He is accosted by the warmth and the smell of one of his favorite things.
He looks at me.
It’s been a long time since you made bread.
He cuts himself two hearty slices to make a sandwich.
My daughter and I slice pieces for avocado toast.
I slice a piece for my farmer and make hot chocolate to bring to him for an afternoon snack.
The first loaf is all but gone.
Maybe tomorrow I will make more. . .
While I wait on God.
While I listen for his voice in the quiet.
While I quiet my heart to sing gratitude in the grief, in the joy and in the silence.
30 Days of Thankfulness
I am thankful for:
Bread dough rising on the stove
A warm home
the smell of freshly bake bread
kids enjoying the food I have prepared
coffee
Freshly baked bread and coffee
basically anything with my coffee
a day to get caught up and make bread
my farmer who keeps the stoves stoked so we have warmth
The sunshine peeking through on this cold day
the things that went right, that could have gone so wrong with the cold temperatures
the new barn and all who have helped us continue to recover from the 2017 storm
flannel sheets and nightgowns
texts from my brothers that make me laugh
God who teaches us to be content in all circumstances
