“What is growing in my garden? Wheat stalks between the iris and roses!” For years I’ve wanted to grow wheat to experience bread baking from seed to loaf. Researching various types of wheat berries and the best environment for them to grow, wanting to “do it right,” I never got around to preparing the perfect plot. So, nothing happened…until this morning’s moment of awakening. I recalled creating a video for virtual VBS last summer, July 2020, demonstrating the process of making bread. After recording a clip on our patio, I tossed the wheat berries aside into our garden.
All year long these seeds slept, germinated and were transformed in the dark earth, without any effort of my own. All I did was cast them away, then Mystery took over. One definition of “broadcast” is “to scatter or sow (seed or something similar) over a broad area.” How am I called to broadcast God’s love? Dear Lord, grant me the courage to step aside in humility and embrace the darkness. Through this prayer of deep listening, infuse me with your grace to be secreted within. Guide me to do your will, trusting that if I do my part, you will take what I’ve given and “accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” (Ephesians 3:20)
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24
The magenta amaranth was drooping in the grain arrangement displayed for World Communion Sunday. I was tempted to harvest more. I likely hadn’t watered the amaranth enough, and it was front and center among the sorghum, rice, millet and sesame. Then I awakened to the beauty of the plants in all stages of their lives; grains dying to new life. Bread. Bread looks and tastes different in other parts of the world, and I find beauty in that too. I have allowed my deepest self to be touched by flavors unfamiliar to me. By trying new spices, grains, and recipes from other regions, my senses are awakened and I learn about other cultures more than any book I’ve read or class I’ve taken. The practice of baking bread has become prayer for me, and I feel and smell God’s goodness in every loaf. Bread is life and bread is love. But love means nothing if it is not shared. Love abounded on World Communion Sunday as more than sixty church members shared global artifacts and linens, photographs, stories, served as hosts, and offered bread created with their own hands. I loved seeing children and adults moving to the energetic beat of the bongos. I’m sure God was smiling and dancing along as well.
Brother Placid is a monk from Latrobe, PA, who convinced me to join Facebook in 2017, to share my stories of faith. A gifted person in many ways, with a keen eye for seeing the sacred in the art of photography, he recently posted a photo from Saint Vincent Archabbey entitled “Touching a Cloud”; a reminder to me that we are all connected. So I messaged him a few pictures I took this morning of the thick clouds at Saint Meinrad in Southern Indiana. As I walked back from Vigils and Lauds, the deep fog reminded me of a blanket spread out over all creation, touching me, you, and people around the world.
I am at the Benedictine monastery this week on retreat with God. Arriving with no expectations, I’ve learned that my own agenda disappoints me and gets in the way of deeper growth. So, I’m trying not to be disappointed that my room is as far away from the bell tower as I’ve ever been before. I would have been fine with that on my first visit here, several years ago, when the bells kept me up all night as they resounded every fifteen minutes. But that disruption transformed a piece of me that has never left. Why is it that I now want those same bells with me day and night? Maybe because the bells remind me of God and how he disrupts our lives, and that is not a bad thing.
She came thirsty and a bit nervous. Our group warmly welcomed her. Amidst silent prayer after reading the psalm, something was happening. God was there; we felt it. Then she sang. And oh, did she sing! I’ve heard her lovely voice before, but this was different. This was not a performance. It was an offering and a prayer; enough to make those present tremble. Her voice calmed our fears, and we felt embraced by God’s loving arms. When the music stopped, we sat in silence. No words were needed. She had begun with a quavering voice and ended with confident conviction.
My brother, Tommy, recently died. When a loved one dies, sharing stories with family and friends can be very meaningful and healing. I’ve been listening to memories of how he touched people’s lives in ways I didn’t know. I have also shared my own stories. One of these times was at his funeral. When I don’t have words, many times I express myself with music. So I played a piece on the piano that had been going through my head since the news of his death. It’s a piece he practiced over and over when he was a young teenager. Many of his friends had no idea he played the piano.
My brother-in-law, who lives in Northern Sweden, has a Northern Lights app. When visiting him in December there was a break in the clouds during a time when there was a higher chance of seeing this mystical phenomenon. We dressed in layers, set-up our chairs and blankets, and turned off all the house lights. Then we waited. And we waited. I didn’t really know what to look for. Or even what part of the sky to give my full attention to. I saw lots of shooting stars though! There we were, the four of us, waiting in the dark with heads looking up to the skies. More clouds rolled in and covered up our chances of seeing any lights, so we moved inside and enjoyed hot chocolate and Fika.
I am embarrassed about something. But before the big reveal, the story…I grew up loving graham crackers. They bring back fond memories of Sunday school and campfires. I decided to make them from scratch; something I’ve been eager to do for awhile. So, I made sure all ingredients were in order and mixed the dough to let it rest overnight. I began to wonder what graham flour actually is. Embarrassing drumroll reveal…there is no such thing as a graham plant. I thought about how silly that sounded, but it’s true. All these years I thought it was a special grain. I had to find out what graham flour was and why it was named graham.
I got a new toy last week. A yogurt maker! As I passed by the discount table it kept looking at me. First, I glanced at the pictures on the box, then I wandered around a bit more. I strolled by the table again, picked up the box and examined it for a price, trying not to look too obvious. No price. Hmmm. Now I was really curious, so I asked. The salesperson was very knowledgeable, and I thought to myself, “I do eat yogurt every day for lunch but probably would not make it without the help of this machine.” I walked away with a new appliance.
Bread for the Journey 