Take This Bread

An older post, from the archives… for this season of Lent, for Hope…

Prasanta Verma

The day blooms red. The tulips, bursting red on Sunday, remind me of blood that dripped that day….

And of the drippings of my own heart. Piercings by this world. By enemies. The deepest ones, by friends. Piercings he also knew, as a man.

I need a salve, and I come to Jesus’ feet, and see myself, there at the cross, watching… tears dripping… like his drops of blood.

And a word comes, from an unexpected place… “Love you”… from someone not so well known, but I know she means it, and I feel like my cup runs over.

As I stand in the kitchen, I mix dough, the sticky mass spinning in the bowl, like my world does sometimes. I stir the soup, the carrots and potatoes become soft, and dinner becomes like my heart.

The kneading, shaping, the poking– my heart is moved, torn, transformed– by love. What else…

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