Well, my first bread is away.  It was perfect in its simplicity.  

Anxious to get started, I decided Monday was a good day to begin.  I mean, Monday needs all the help it can get right? I spent much of the weekend thinking about my very first who.  I tried not to ascribe too much value to the very first, but I have a love of symbolism and emphasis that is hard to contain.  Needless to say, I spent more than a little time trying to land on the right first recipient. I ended up selecting a neighbor we know enough to wave good morning to, but would like to get to know more.  I loved the idea of starting with a literal neighbor for my little project of love. It is the second greatest commandment that Jesus calls out, so it seemed like a solid choice.

My neighbors have two little, little girls which had me adjust my thinking on my first bread choice.  I went with a less artisanal style and more of a finer textured, simple peasant style. In fact, I think it was a great choice.  Rarely does one regret making the choice for something simple and good. I have often regretted overdone.

This afternoon was a bit more rushed than I wanted it to be, but that is sort of perfect too.  The fact is, I am not making world peace. I am baking bread. It is a simple act that can be carved out with a little time.  It doesn’t demand hours and hours. It demands intention and action. So I made the dough before picking up one of the kids from music, and before an evening work event.  I baked it while I was making dinner. That is probably the best new symbol of my undertaking right there. This new project is intended to be a part of my life now. I cannot wait until the time is right, or I have more time or money or whatever to give.  The time is now.

After the loaf was finished, slightly cooled and wrapped for giving our family gathered around and we each said a prayer over the bread for the family that was going to receive it.  It was sweet and wonderful and felt like the right place to start. My son wanted to come with me, and so we headed out into the dark night. I was a little nervous walking over to the neighbor’s house as it was a little later in the evening than I wanted.  Who knocks on someone’s door when it’s dark out on a Monday in suburbia? I do. With my hands full of warm bread, and my hopes high.

My lovely neighbors were the picture of family life on Monday night (complete with littles in footed jammies!), and oh so gracious.  They welcomed us into their home and they asked how we were and we asked how they were. And we listened. They told us a little of their story.  And they have had big things happening. It was amazing to sit in their living room and share a connection. I bet we weren’t there more than 15 minutes altogether, but the whole scene was shining with warmth.  It was enough to sit with them for a short while and start a deeper connection.  It was special and magical.  Warm bread opens doors I tell you.