Living From The Heart

It’s the strangest thing, really.  I’ve never been much of a baker.  But suddenly I found myself wondering about notes in mom’s recipe box and eyeing the bread pans in that lower drawer.  Noodling about the qualities of ‘chew’ and tasting the salts and dried herbs in my cupboard.  And feeling curious…is it true that wrapping a loaf in foil protects it from drying yet won’t turn the crust soft?  I found a book called “The Spirituality of Bread” and wandered down memory lane revisiting loaves across the globe.  Czech rye, French croissants, Italian ciabatta, German soft pretzels, English crumpets, San Francisco sourdough, grandma’s cornbread, bagels from Polish street vendors, Ethiopian injera, fresh warm tortillas, Alabama buttermilk biscuits, mom’s cinnamon rolls, a whole grain loaf from Katie’s oven three houses down, rosemary flatbreads baked over the Easter morning beach fire, croutons toasted on my stovetop, flatbread pizza at our favorite date spot after Taize.  And the elements they’ve been paired with.  Herb infused olive oil and decadently syrupy balsamic vinegar, warm goat cheese and parsley, crumbly parmesan, sauerkraut, garlicky hummus and bright green pesto straight from my food processor, the dozen mustards in my fridge, a loose pack of arugula and a runny yolk poached egg, my own Caesar salad dressing, spicy pizza sauce, a smear of avocado with a sprinkle of sea salt, homemade raspberry jam, thickly sliced tomatoes, Dad’s pickled herring, fire-in-your-mouth lentils, chopped egg with fresh dill.  I envisioned a weekly bread-making Friday with Oliver, his little hands kneading away, flour dusting his nose, music playing in the background, a special little bread-making blessing created just for our morning.  And sharing the loaves….I sketched in my mind a family-oriented communion meal around our table with friends….a blend of tasty evening nibbles, a beautiful salad, an awe-inspiring wine, the ceremonial slicing of the center loaf, a sensory liturgy.  So I searched for flour blends and bought the yeast packets and…..  Well, that’s all.  That’s as far as it got.

Somewhere in the middle of the baking aisle, the romance and the reality collided.  The flour dusting on Oliver’s nose turned into a bag of flour dumped all over the floor.  The yeast packet turned into yeast lost because the water was too cold and it never activated.  The sweet time with my boy turned into the frustrations of parenting.  The gathering devolved from an I’m-perfectly-ok-with-child-energy-around-the-table vision to a let’s-just-get-through-this disappointment as the buzz of evening meals with lots of little people peppered my imagination.  The airy quality of the loaves we were making fell flat.  I couldn’t decide on meal accompaniments.  Would Oliver take a nap that day and be good to go, or would he be unable to sleep and turn into a hot mess around 4:37pm?  I wanted to open the bottle now.  Forget it, I thought.  It can’t work to host these things in this season of life.  Just forget the whole thing.

Mindy.

The voice was quiet.

There’s a fresh loaf there on the counter.

Oh.

There’s a bottle in the pantry.

There is?

Sit.  Eat.  Drink.  Do this in remembrance of ME.

***

I'm part of a 9 month cohort in a course called Living From The Heart offered through The Selah Center (which I also work for....full disclosure).   Each module folds together a cohort day retreat, ongoing individual spiritual direction, a soul care group, reading, reflective project, and contemplative practices.  This is my reflection launching from our opening retreat, David Benner's Surrender To Love, and Henry Nouwen's The Way of the Heart.

©2016 Mindy Danylak