hello friends,
one evening, a few weeks ago, i was reading. i was reading about mixing and kneading bread. as i read, i could feel the bread dough under my fingers. i could smell the warm yeasty aroma. i could feel my arms work and my body lean into the counter.
it has been years since i have done this; almost six years since i have mixed up yeasty, gluten-filled, wheat bread dough and plunged my fist into the rising dough before turning it out onto the counter and kneading it till it felt just so.
i was thinking about all the things we don't get to hold onto.
i set the book aside and climbed the stairs to tell my kids goodnight.
maddie is so tall - so long in her bed - all long legs and long arms and long hair. i laid my head on her back and felt my eyes start to swim. i had a cold, so my thick-sounding voice didn't make her ask if i was crying. i cleared my throat and told her i love you. and good night.
i went into isaac's room. his feet were sticking out from under his blankets. (the other morning i had thought, when i woke isaac up for school, that it is about time for new blankets.) he asked if his blankets were crooked. they were, but even after i straightened them out, they barely covered him from shoulder to toe. it is time for a new mama-made quilt for that boy who is growing like a weed. after kissing the top of his head and holding it together while i said i love you, i took myself into the bathroom, shut the door, sat down, and let myself cry.
i cried for how much they are changing. i cried for joy at the goodness of our years together. i cried for the goodness of where we are right now. we are in such a good place right now. i wouldn't trade where we are for kneading bread with zoe at my feet and having two kids who look tiny in their beds, but there are some beautiful and some heart-wrenching memories that live in my mind and my heart.
and the beauty of the right-now, of the everyday moments, is even more real because we have had to work so hard for and fight for the place we are; we have held on so tightly with ever fiber and muscle and last edge of a fingernail, that the peace and wonder of the here and now is something indescribable. there is truly peace that passes all understanding. and we are so very blessed to know the giver of peace. we know peace himself. he who gives joy and wonder in each of the real and raw moments of life. he who put these two long-legged, growing, wonderful, funny, lovely people in my life for me to make blankets and bread for. he who gives me joy as i stitch and cover and bake for them {and for their wonderful dad}.
i pray, my friends, that you will know beauty and peace worth holding onto. and that you will hold on to the moment-maker and the peace-giver with every fiber {and sometimes the very last fiber} of your being.
go fiercely and be wonderful.
with so much love, e
p.s. there is a bread that i can make for us now. it makes the kitchen smell wonderful. and it makes toast and sandwiches that we all enjoy. there is no kneading involved, but i can live with that. find the recipe here. and i don't even change anything!
p.p.s. if you eat gluten and would like to know about some of my past bread baking, you can read about it here, here and here. that last link is cinnamon date bread. i need to figure out a way to do something like that gluten free. that bread was to die for.
p.p.p.s. happy saturday, friends!