Warm Bread

I can’t sleep. I check my clock again 4:45 am. For some, it’s the normal rise and shine hour. For me, I should be finishing up the end of my dreams and coming to the surface from deep sleep. Instead, I toss and turn. Finally, I hear the click of my coffeemaker and I know that I can get up. With the promise of a hot cup of motivation waiting on me I blink and yawn and make my way to that place of in between…. not fully ready to start the day, but completely upright out of the warm covers. The Mister softly snores and I tuck the fleece blanket around him. He never has any worries and sleeping for another two hours will make him a happy man.

I let the Willow out to greet the day and scare a deer or two back into the deep recesses of the forest. Jack meanders in, tired and hungry from his nightly wanderings. He heads for his food dish and in less than 15 minutes will begin his daytime snooze on the corner of my bed.

I  take my coffee, cream no sugar, and head to The Mister’s big chair. I rock slowly for a few minutes, willing myself to wake and listen to the sounds of early morning.  I open The Book.  I scan the page to find my place and there is yesterday’s tiny red mark under verse 25.

“And your strength will equal your days.”

This is my warm bread. I break it off and savor the sweet smell. I close my eyes and let its flavor wash over me.

“And your strength will equal your days.”

It tastes sweet and earthy and heavenly. It is so warm that the flavors meld into a mixture of sweet, thepromise of strength, and hearty, the days may be long and hard. I am still and quiet. I let myself chew on this morsel and instead of thinking and analyzing and dissecting the ingredients, determining the exact compound of flour and salt and egg, I just taste its goodness.

“And your strength will equal your days”

I feel full and satisfied.  Like a lazy Sunday afternoon feeling. Push back from the dinner table. Wanting nothing else but a place to rest. 

” And your strength will equal your days.”

I have been so weak I could only sip milk, like a helpless babe from her mother. I have been so strong I have devoured steak, thick and juicy. I have cut it into pieces and chewed it and received its energy.

Today, I eat warm bread. No too much, but enough. Today the Father breaks off warm bread, dips it in the  butter and honey of His own voice and hands and feeds me. I am satisfied. I need nothing.

“And your strength will equal your days.”

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