Just moments ago, I pulled two loaves of absolutely beautiful homemade bread out of the oven. The delicious smell has been slowly filling every nook and cranny of the Stork's Nest, and now they are finally ready - tall, golden and well-rounded, by far my best looking loaves ever. I'm still looking at them in choked-up astonishment.
If you've ever tried to bake bread, you probably know that it is no simple affair. In fact, my own first attempts always ended up in sullen frustration - the bread would most typically not rise like it was supposed to, yet I would try to bake it anyway, and the result usually resembled a brick rather than bread. I think it was just tonight that I finally put my finger on the secret... As so many brilliant conclusions, it dawned upon me by accident. As I was making the dough, I miscalculated how much time I had until Billy and I were leaving for dinner at our friend's house, so I had no time to bake it and had to leave it alone for a couple of hours. When we came home, the dough had actually doubled - just like it said in the recipe! It had been there in the cookbooks all along; I just never really believed it. In my impatience to finally taste a real sandwich - a desire only augmented by the local prevalence of yucky imitations of the Wonderbread sort - I quickly concluded that the dough was ready to go and tried to rush the delicate process. What I got in return were dense bricks - perhaps still wholesome and nutritious, as Billy c0mpassionately reminded me, but nothing like the deliciously fluffy wonders that came out of the oven tonight.
I'm sure I've made many other discoveries like this one and soon forgot their impact, but this one stands out as an image for a vague inkling that's been with me for some time. The struggle to wait seems like a common malady of our "microwave society." We are impatient to grow up, to get a degree, to get married; impatient for the various pieces of our lives to come together, for pain to make sense, for churches to grow, for the Kingdom of God to come. If things don't happen like we'd hope, we often conclude that the dough needs some speeding up - so we rush through childhood, graduate early, put band-aids over wounds, borrow marketing strategies from business or try to take over the government. Meanwhile, the organism of God's Kingdom operates on an independent schedule - like yeast rising when the cook is away or a seed growing in the soil regardless of whether the farmer is looking. The kind of bread that I long for - as well as the kind of marriage, friendship, community - grows in effortless mystery, but not without my effort of faithful waiting. The beautiful part? Once I give in to the present moment, the bread grows peacefully on its own while I flirt with Billy, notice the full moon on the way to our friend's house and enjoy an evening of lovely conversation.
It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)
If you've ever tried to bake bread, you probably know that it is no simple affair. In fact, my own first attempts always ended up in sullen frustration - the bread would most typically not rise like it was supposed to, yet I would try to bake it anyway, and the result usually resembled a brick rather than bread. I think it was just tonight that I finally put my finger on the secret... As so many brilliant conclusions, it dawned upon me by accident. As I was making the dough, I miscalculated how much time I had until Billy and I were leaving for dinner at our friend's house, so I had no time to bake it and had to leave it alone for a couple of hours. When we came home, the dough had actually doubled - just like it said in the recipe! It had been there in the cookbooks all along; I just never really believed it. In my impatience to finally taste a real sandwich - a desire only augmented by the local prevalence of yucky imitations of the Wonderbread sort - I quickly concluded that the dough was ready to go and tried to rush the delicate process. What I got in return were dense bricks - perhaps still wholesome and nutritious, as Billy c0mpassionately reminded me, but nothing like the deliciously fluffy wonders that came out of the oven tonight.
I'm sure I've made many other discoveries like this one and soon forgot their impact, but this one stands out as an image for a vague inkling that's been with me for some time. The struggle to wait seems like a common malady of our "microwave society." We are impatient to grow up, to get a degree, to get married; impatient for the various pieces of our lives to come together, for pain to make sense, for churches to grow, for the Kingdom of God to come. If things don't happen like we'd hope, we often conclude that the dough needs some speeding up - so we rush through childhood, graduate early, put band-aids over wounds, borrow marketing strategies from business or try to take over the government. Meanwhile, the organism of God's Kingdom operates on an independent schedule - like yeast rising when the cook is away or a seed growing in the soil regardless of whether the farmer is looking. The kind of bread that I long for - as well as the kind of marriage, friendship, community - grows in effortless mystery, but not without my effort of faithful waiting. The beautiful part? Once I give in to the present moment, the bread grows peacefully on its own while I flirt with Billy, notice the full moon on the way to our friend's house and enjoy an evening of lovely conversation.
It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)
marta! i love it :) makes me want to make some bread... and wait on God's mystery in life. do you have a good recipe?
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