A friend unexpectantly arrived at my doorstep yesterday with this loaf in hand. From the little knowledge I have ascertained about making sourdough, creating it requires patience, laborious effort, and, still, more patience. After she had left, with the comforting familiarity of our ordinary conversation still dancing circles in my mind, I slipped the treasure out of its linen bag. A wave of gratitude swept over me when I beheld its beauty, for I knew I could never, no matter how hard I tried, reciprocate. You see, I possess not the skill nor the ambition to make such a blessed thing; therefore, this loaf was to me a wholly undeserved gift. I reached for my phone to express, however insufficiently, my gratitude.
My friend simply replied, “..when my slashes came out in the cross today, I knew this was the loaf for you.”
What she didn’t know is that almost three years ago to date, I rediscovered the indispensable profit of the cross. Much like the realities many are facing today, I was wandering around, self-isolated, in a world full of uncertainties. Rather than allow myself to be steered in a new direction, I kicked hard against the goads. I seethed with anger, cried out in fear, and prayed despairingly for God to change my circumstances. He did not.
Instead, He brought me to the foot of the cross and gently slid me out from behind the veil that had been separating me from astounding admiration of the man whose body broke, like bread, for me. Jesus. My wholly undeserved gift.
It was in the mire of my insufficiency where I realized that no accomplishment, earthly love, or experience, would ever satiate the void meant to be filled with reverent awe and worship of what He had done for me.
I must admit, steeping myself in this renewed appreciation for Jesus changed little about my circumstance. No, alternatively—incomparably—it changed everything about my soul.
I do not know what tomorrow brings for me or for you. I do not know how I am going to keep the peace between four bodies knit together in close proximity indefinitely, or help my neighbours who’ve lost their jobs, or fix my aging house, or surmount the endless worries, or launch a book I never intended to write amidst a pandemic—nonetheless—God sent His son, our undeserved gift. Therefore, with all that is within me, I will trust that His body broken, like bread, was given as an unlimited resource to nourish a famished world and confidently bear witness to the truth that the One who once fed thousands with a little boy’s lunch, is able to work infinitely greater miracles in all who trust to Him their soul.
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