Bread

It seems like such a boring title.

Bread. And yet... It is so much more.

All that follows is an outpouring of what I'm learning during a season where I'm experimenting with fresh milled grains in providing for my family. Please forgive the rabbit trail... But I genuinely had NO IDEA how much solid nutrition comes from grinding grain fresh. A word to the wise... If you decide to jump down the rabbit hole... It's a LOT.

I started by having several types of grain milled to bring home and use quickly since I now know how fast grains lose their nutrition after they are ground. In the past week alone, I've made challah... cornbread... pancakes... chocolate chip cookies... and even a loaf of sandwich bread! (It was such a surreal moment to pull a whole square loaf from the oven and realize that it could be sliced and used for sandwiches.) And the kids actually LIKED it!!!! My house smelled like a warm hug... Fresh bread. OH FRESH BREAD! Healthy whole grains.... Healing for my family.

And that... That is where I will alight today. For the record, I've already erased 3 paragraphs where I rabbit trailed into the makings of bread.... Because it's really so much fun now that I'm getting past the "scary" of it. I'm not a baker... I STRUGGLE with baking.... Because it requires focus. But here I am... Baking. I now consider baking with fresh milled grain a new hyperfocus... Unapologetically. I will learn more... and I will be sharing more too.

I've known that this blog post was coming for days as I've stepped back and looked at the world through new eyes. It's so much more than a loaf of bread... or a batch of cookies. As I've waited for loaves to rise... and set timers for follow up... and lost track of time and had bread that was climbing up out of the bowl... and some that didn't rise at all... As I've accidently made crackers when I burned a pizza crust I was baking... I've bumbled my way through making cookies in a new way... I recognize that something in my heart has begun to heal. As I was stirring cookies, my youngest would pop in periodically and ask for a scoop of dough... It took me back to being a kid again. I remember my own momma making cookies for us... Waking up to the smell of biscuits in the house ... the scent of bread.

Handing him a pinch of cookie dough would be so sweet, like a memory marker in time for me. Then after he would walk away, I found myself bracing on the kitchen counter and stifling the urge to sob... Reckless... Ugly tears. Chest tight... bursting tears.

You see... For so long... For sooo long. More than the entire life of my youngest... I have been in survival mode. I've been busy. I've been running. I've been doing so much that I wasn't truly present... anywhere. And that's the only momma that he's ever known. Running... Busy.... Stretched too thin.

I had become a shell. A busy shell. Pouring from an empty cup. Trying to keep my head above water... And slowly feeling like my boat had taken on so much water that I couldn't pour anymore. Still desiring to share my faith... Tell about the wonders of my incredible Father who has taken care of every one of my needs... But not having the peace of mind to slow down and just... Be. How could I claim to trust God... When I was so burnt out from trying to survive? I felt like a fraud in some ways. Was it trust? Or self sufficiency? Did I trust enough to alleviate fear? Or was it just a mantra.... My faith only a good luck charm that I wore? I watched myself begin to disappear through the years... and I didn't know how to stop the slide. I was so busy... that I lost my focus. I stopped writing. I wasn't creating as often..... My paint brushes began to collect dust. I stopped teaching classes. And I recognize now that I was longing so much for eternity that I stopped hoping for things to improve here in the natural world. And then my body and my mind said.... No more. I recognized that where I was at was not healthy... not sustainable.

I desired... More.

More peace. More time to teach my own kids... Laugh with them... Learn with them.... Share with them.

More quiet time before the Father.... Without distraction. Those things don't come by casually waiting for them. I've learned that there are times that a person has to literally stand in the gap for their own needs. Carve out the space for quiet time... I used to only grab the moments of peace that I could snatch as they drifted by. During this past year, I've learned to say, "Not right this moment. I need a few minutes to re-charge."

And then I would actually take that time... Actually take it and rest. NOT clean... tidy... or find ways to work... I would curl up with my kids and watch a movie... Snuggle up for a nap with the most incredible tubby grandbaby a person could ask for... Real rest. And slowly... I began to see the differences... An idea would come for a painting.

My kids seemed more relaxed... Bedtime held less anxiety. Their worry began to abate in some areas.

Laughter (that has always been a part of the fabric of our home) began to increase.

My chest didn't seem to be so tight every day that I couldn't breathe. Tears would release instead of building up... And when they fell, they allowed me to unclench, untangle, and see things from a clearer perspective. Words sometimes began to formulate for a blog to share again. I realized my home was filling with the scent of something new... A new project that wasn't intimidating now because it was starting from a place of peace... not frenzy.

I am now knee deep in a world of yeast and rise times and trusting the process... A slower pace.... I can't rush a rise... The bread just won't be as yummy. I HAVE to slow down. It's new to me. But I like it.

And at this moment in time, I know I'm exactly where I need to be.

Hamburger buns..... Pizza dough... Challah.... Bread.... Hope.

Healing. In the natural AND for the soul.

It's here to be had. It's here to be treasured... Rejoiced... And shared. As we are on this journey called life... I'm thankful we are walking together. I'm praying for my readers today... That you too can find that place of peace.

It's a journey. But it's worth the effort. Truly. One day at a time. One tear at a time. One "Not now, I need to rest," at a time. The healing can happen. I'm witnessing it under this roof. And I'll stand witness for you too. H