Rising

I've been baking bread. Sourdough bread, to be more exact. And the tending to and process of have whispered to me over the past weeks. Truths, simple and quiet. The truest usually spoken so softly that they seem to be our own thoughts, just stranger. 

So as I feed the starter, knead the shaggy dough, watch the miraculous rise, smell the baking, and taste the final product, I'm in a bit of a daze. Awe, I guess you'd say.  

See, bread is a simple simple thing. Flour, water, yeast (this one from the air! Wild, all around us, unseen and so strong). And time. A lot of waiting between steps. I tend to it, then wait. For the starter to "activate" and bubble, for the dough to rise, for the loaves to form. For the bread to bake, it's scent so warm and appealing. It's humbling, really, because I don't have a lot to do with it at all, but I take credit. 

Maybe here I'm saying I don't want to take credit, but instead speak to the little nourishing miracle of watching bread rise.  

It's come to be a holy thing, this bread baking, and I feel Him speaking to me as I measure and watch and taste. 

There's so little you have to do to understand, beloved. Come with the bare minimum, offer it to Me, wait--there's a lot of waiting, you might turn your patience into forgetting sometimes. This will leave you with a mess.  

Begin again.  

Mix, get your hands in there, be still and quiet.  

Wait again.  

Then, with your hands and Mine and time, a new thing is created.  

Warm, wholesome, so good you can't help but share.  

It's only bread, yes--that's what you want to disclaimer this wonder into.. But remember, beloved, it's my Body. These quiet, small elements, this wild air all around you--it's all working and rising up within. 

Taste. See.  

Cycle back again and again. Tend to it, feed others with it.