“Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowl.”
Deuteronomy 28:5
♥
Autumn, bowls, baskets and baking just seem to blend.
I close my eyes and I’m swept back into childhood to a cozy warm kitchen.
Come with me!
Smells wonderful in here.
Sunlight makes my mother’s hair glisten. I climb up onto the stool beside her.
I breathe in the scent of a heating oven and fresh dough in Mom’s big wooden kneading bowl.
My gaze roams the kitchen counter laden with a bags of flour and sugar, glass measuring cups, and measuring spoons.
Close by is a bottle of oil, a round blue box of salt and a container of snow-white vegetable fat. Mom lets me stick my fingers into the satiny white stuff so I can help “grease” the metal pans.
Over there is the big silver flour sifter with a screen in the bottom and a handle that makes a funny noise when she lets me squeeze it so the flour sifts through.
I pull the wrapper from the magical little cake of fresh yeast that’s ready to go into the next batch of dough.
Oh, Lord, Bread of Life, thank you for the gift of our wondrous senses.
There’s nothing quite like the sight of my mother’s beautiful hands as she kneads the shapeless dough and gives it form in her big wooden bowl.
Or the puffy soft feel of raised dough against my fist when I help punch it down to rise again.
Or the scent of baked homemade bread filling the house.
Or the sound of the ticking timer that matches the beat of my heart as I wait to taste and feel the blend of soft warm bread and melted butter on my tongue.
Jesus, Bread of Life, thank you for blessing our sturdy kneading bowls and overflowing baskets.
♥
And you’ve probably baked bread with your own little ones by your side as I have and as my daughter and her daughter have.
Baking bread together is as much a tradition as breaking bread together at the dinner table
or breaking it together at the Lord’s table when we remember Him as He’s asked us to
or sharing bread with others who have little or none.
Bread.
It is so much more.
Do you have a bread story? ☺ I’d love to have you share it in a comment
Love,
Sally
♥
“Then Jesus said to them, ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, Moses did not give you the bread from heaven, but My Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.’” John 6:32 33
Jesus said “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” John 6:51
Jesus said “I am the bread of life.” John 6:48
All scripture NKJV
Need a Christmas gift for your favorite readers?
Think about giving them a copy of the new novel, The Stonekeepers.
Click on the photo of the book to take you directly to the web page where you can purchase it.
Back and front cover image of novel The Stonekeepers
EVERYONE HAS A STORY 
My grandmother was Danish, and as appear obvious. she baked: pies, cakes, treats of all kinds. The smell of her kitchen remains with me to this day. It stood for love in my mind.
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I remember you talking, years ago now, about your Danish roots. The dad character in the other book I’ve written has Danish roots too. ☺ I’d love to visit Solvang, CA one day just to go into a Danish bakery and revel in the wonderful fragrance of things Danish baking! What a good memory for you to have–especially since it stands for love for you. Thanks for your comment, Bob!
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I don’t remember my mother or grandmother baking bread. So it’s something I never did until I got a breadmaking machine. Not the same thing, though, is it? I do remember my mother, when I was an adult, complaining about the bread then appearing – “milk loaves”. She wanted, she said “Bread bread” i.e. the real thing.
xo
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Breadmakng machines make it a lot easier I imagine. And though I don’t have one, it must just easier labor-wise but still produces bread like your mother wanted–“Bread bread.” And “milk loaves” reminds me of the term Mr. Milquetoast, Casper, of comic strip fame — unassertive and timid. Not the real thing. Thanks for another perspective, Zillah, and thanks for commenting!
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Loved, loved, loved this one, Sally. It could have been my story. I saw my mother in her kitchen making bread. She always made rolls, not loaves. Her rolls would float off your plate. Often,she would make a pan of cinnamon rolls for a special treat. Nothing smells better than homemade bread baking. Most all my friends use a breadmaking machine if they make bread, at all, but I still like the old-fashioned way. I like the feel of the dough in my hands–a kind of therapy. And it makes me smile. Thanks, Sally.
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Oh, yes! Cinnamon rolls too. So many wonderful memories are triggered by the scents coming from our childhood kitchens. And, you’re right, it is a kind of therapy to make something so beautifully basic as rolls or bread from scratch! I’m so glad you enjoyed this post, Pat! Your comment certainly made me smile!
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