Bread and Wine...for me.

I woke up raging.  About the dog.  And, the living room carpet.  And, the gate that was suppose to block the dog from getting to the carpet.  There was a bigger, more important lesson behind the gate and the dog and the carpet but even the Bigger Lesson didn't merit my rage.

In my communication classes I learned about a type of fighting that is called "kitchen sinking."  It is a label assigned to the fighting style when one brings up every topic known to a relationship or, really, the human condition, in the course of one fight.

Example:  You wake up your husband demanding you know why he moved the gate and end up discussing mistakes he made on your vacation three years ago.

Just as an example.

I can be guilty of "kitchen sinking."

The rage, joined with the overwhelming mortification of realizing how I started off our family's morning, left me wiped out all day.  I was guilty of crazy behavior, and while my husband hung in there with me, saw the Bigger Lesson and said it was all ok, I still couldn't shake my remorse.

Even knowing it was hormonal wasn't helpful.  Because it was all still real.  Like a drunk person who tries to claim she didn't mean what she said at the party or didn't mean to break dance on your kitchen counter, spilling red wine and taco dip on the carpet, or intend to kiss your cat...it still all happened.  (not at my party, but I hear things)  Hormones are real.  Really powerful.  Really tiresome.  Really hard to control.

By that evening, I needed to step away for a while.  My Husband came home, and I left.  I decided to take myself to dinner.  (because I was sure I'd be such a fun date)  I sat at a real restaurant and ordered wine, a salad and ate the bread with olive oil and asiago cheese.  I ordered creme brule.  I read the book "Jesus Freak" by Sara Miles.

It is a memoir about Sara's early work at the food shelf she created.  It is about, as the subtitle says, feeding, healing and raising the dead.  I'm struggling with my current faith community, and in the day to day struggle, I forget what I believe we are to be about.  I need to be reminded of our greater purpose, I need the challenge to love others, I need the charge to be audacious and bold in my actions for the good of the Gospel.  I forget that the promises of word and bread and wine is real.  Even though I weekly go through the motions, teaching my kids what is happening at the altar, I forget to remind myself that what happens around the altar and through our hands, is real.

Words from the page convicted me, eased my rage and stirred my soul.

"The thing that sucks about being a Christian is that God actually lives in other people."  
"Being the body of Christ didn't allow a lot of room for sentimentality or waffling, and didn't depend on my ability or failure to like any particular individual.  It just demanded a new heart from me, a new way of seeing other people."
"Somebody told me a story,  And it turned out to be true."
"I tasted Jesus before I read about him and turned back to Scripture for clues about what I'd already experienced in my own body."

As I read about her conversion to Christianity through the shared bread of Jesus' body, and her continued faith development through feeding the lost and lonely, crumbs from my own bread fell into the book.  I sat in the booth made for six people and took in the lives being lived around me.

I dipped a piece of crusty bread into the olive oil.  Then I bit off a piece.  I took a deep breath and said to myself, "this is for you."  I picked up the solid wine glass, heavy with a merlot and drank in the smooth, berry liquid.  I sighed, and felt forgiveness.

I ended the day laughing in the kitchen with my Husband.  Amazed and aware of the transformation that took place in twelve hours.

feeding.  healing.  raising the dead.  

indeed.

Where do you find nourishment in your day to day life?