Bread of Life

I’ve just made bread.

It’s gluten-free “mock” rye bread.

Is there any smell that can compare to fresh baked bread?

The gluten-free version is no different. It’s heavenly.

It was this time last year that Covid was stealing tastes and smells.  So, I’m taking it all in today.  What a gift the senses are.  You know, I think I have taken for granted my whole life this gift to both smell and taste.  It’s not that I take for granted what I smell.  Like the bread.  I’ve long thanked God for food that is set before me.  What I have taken for granted is the fact that I CAN smell or that I CAN taste.  It’s quite the gift because there wasn’t one ding-dang thing I could do to change the fact that I couldn’t do either one this time last year.  I do not think I have ever in my life thanked Him that I could.

There’s a story Jesus illustrates with ten men who were healed, but only one came back to thank Him.  Jesus said, “Didn’t I heal 10?  Where are the other 9?  Only 1 returned unrestrained to give glory to God?”

What faith there was that his healing made him think of the healer.

So today, I’m breathing it all in knowing good and well that nothing I did earned myself the return of these senses.  And, they surely don’t always last as long as we do.  King David in the Book of Samuel said, “I am 80-years-old today and food and wine are no longer tasty.”  This came to mind at the same time we were caring for my dad at 86 and this 5 feet nothing man at 200+ pounds was not enjoying eating and drinking anything either.  Not even the smell and taste of a good loaf of bread.

It gives new meaning to the verse. “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

It’s the Lord who’s good.

He is the bread of life.

I want to be the one out of ten to give Him thanks.

2 Samuel 19:34

Luke 17:17

Psalm 34:8

John 6:48

Word for Word

I am a creature of habit.

My morning routine starts before sunrise.

I set my alarm for it.

It’s the time of day when no one is yet to rise except my old fur girl whose alarm clock is determined by mine.  I don’t drink coffee, but I do steep black tea in one of three particular morning mugs.  I have a recliner where I will settle in for an hour or two.  A lightweight blanket will cover my lap while I situate my Bible and journal with a .7 Bic Velocity in hand.  From this position, I begin my day.

A devotional will usually lead my way. Devotionals impart a message through a story or experience but the associated scripture to it is what cracks the spine of my Bible.  It’s what I look up.  It’s what I write out in my journal.

Word for Word.

“Your words are what sustain me.  They bring me great joy and are my heart’s delight.”

I’ve had this practice for a good long while. It was early on that I read in the gospel of John, “the Word was God.”  At a time that I was trying to make sense of spiritual realities in a physical world, I believed that writing His Word was as close to Him as I could tangibly get.  I felt if the Word was God and I wrote the Word, it was like being with God.

I know God is everywhere.  He actually became human and made His home among us. I know the Word is a lamp for my feet and a light on my path.  I know it will never fail.  Whether I write it or not does not change what it is.

Alive and powerful.

Nothing helps me more though than to measure my pace and focus on each and every living, piercing, and penetrating word at dark o’clock.

It brings light.

John 1

Hebrews 4:12

Jeremiah 15:16

Psalm 119:105

Wind Chimes

We have wind chimes now.

The melodic sound is not constant, but when the wind blows my attention is piqued to these new tones.  I mean, I’m not thinking of much and it chimes and then I am.

“The wind blows and we are gone, but the love of the Lord remains forever.”

I’d rather think of love than loss.

You know, when we first had children there was a revelation early on that I had hoped they would know how much they were loved.  I have spent their lifetimes trying to demonstrate this to be true.  For sure, some things may not have looked like love to them.  Some things likely overlooked.  But at the time I remember thinking,  I can’t wait until they have kids to fully know how much I love them.

And then I paused for a humbling thought.

You know, I bet Mom and Dad couldn’t wait until we had kids to know how much they loved us.

And then a bit more seriously,  I thought.  Wait.

I bet their parents couldn’t wait until they had kids to know how much they loved them.

I kept taking it back in part amusement which turned part seriousness. Surely, by God’s original design if you were to continue this trajectory of taking it back you would get to a Father in heaven who sent His Son to show us how much we’re loved.

It may not always look like love and some things are likely overlooked, but the Lord is like a father to his children.  This love extends to the children’s children and remains forever.

It’s how much I know we’re loved

by our Father.

1 John 4: 9-10

Psalm 103

Father’s Whistle

My dad had a whistle.

It was the kind that mattered not what we were doing.  Growing up, our world was to stop when Dad’s positioned fingers on the tip of his tongue and lips gave a forcible expulsion of breath.  It was a call to attention that demanded ours.  It was the kind that drew all six of us back together to the same place at the same time.

The Lord says, “When I whistle to them, they will come running.”

It’s weird that the world kept going round and round on his last day.

To and from I saw people going.

This and that I saw people doing.

But, I was holding tightly.

Both of my hands were holding on to my dad’s right one with dear life.

I watched the monitoring instrument.

It was erratic at first

Until it was too slow.

We watched his oxygen.

We saw his heart rate.

Until there were neither.

Everything stopped.

I know there were still ticks and I know there were still tocks that seemed to matter.

One nurse rushed for another to get the official time.

I didn’t need the other nurse.

It was 5:40 PM.   

I was there.

We all were.

All six of us in the same place at the same time.

For the last time.

It was our Father’s last whistle.

Zechariah 10:8

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