In which I get my daily bread. Or my just desserts.
Stopping by Whole Foods on a snowy evening
My bed is lovely, dark and deep,
But I, in sowing what I’d reap,
At floury recipes do peep —
At piles of dough before I sleep.
And so in rising (from my bed),
I think of rising dough instead,
And to my Whole Foods did I tread
To get some yeast; to bake some bread.
Alas! the plight of stingy heart,
That wholesale rates (through subtle art)
Would have me buy at that fell mart
A pound of yeast — by shopping smart.
I baked my rolls — they turned out nice.
But ho, my flour! if used such twice
Would soon deplete. And so a price
Was to be paid, for my homeslice.
I feared myself, from past mistakes
(To buy too much), I hit my brakes,
And asked my mom the flour to take,
Not knowing she would raise the stakes.
What met my eyes when home I came,
With only math to take the blame,
Was the reverse of my first aim:
25 pounds of flour. Shame. Shame.
Sorry, I broke the meter on that last line. Why don’t you buy 25 pounds of flour and see if your meter (literal and poetic) wouldn’t break, too?
And now, I face the dread of every French baker:
A verse I read last night jumped out at me, as if the Lord Himself was highlighting it on the page.
Psa 127:1
Unless Jehovah builds the house,
Those who build it labor in vain.
Unless Jehovah keeps the city,
The guard watches in vain.
The building work of the Lord is very important to me. I want to see the church grow, mature, and consummate the current age. So what that means, in my shortsighted vision, is that I want everything related to my service in the church to be done right. But sometimes, the best-laid schemes of men—God-men—gang aft agley. And when they do, I find myself straining with all my human might to “keep it together”. Why? Because my human idea is that if things go “right” by my standards, then it’s right by God’s standard. But I saw a little bit this weekend that God does all things well.
His goal isn’t to gain a perfectly-executed work. If it were, why would He choose such a gangly gaggle of gnomes as we to work it? No, His goal is to make His home deep down in our hearts. So maybe that means we’ll miss a ferry. Maybe that means there’ll be some badly-canned produce food-poisoning involved. Maybe that means that the group sitting next to you at dinner will be an inebriated gang of karaoke-belters. But Christ made His home in my heart, deep down, this weekend.
I was reassured. It is not I building the house in vain. God indeed is building. And if He is building, who can be against Him? If He is not, how can I dream myself an adequate replacement? Lord, continue to build Your house.
