Sunday, November 11, 2012

Widow's flour

(A revised version of this post is up at RevGalBlogPals for the Sunday Afternoon Music Video).  As I turned bread out from a bowl to knead yesterday, dipping my hand into a full bin of fine white flour to dust the table top, flour flying with abandon, I thought of the widow in Sunday's reading. I imagine her scraping her flour bin, with its bits of grindstone that had settled to the bottom, reserving virtually nothing to keep the dough from sticking.

 There is an expression of persistent hope there that I suspect you don't grasp until you've struggled with dough that sticks to everything in sight, including your hands.  You have to keep going, sure in the knowledge that the dough will come together, that somehow this messy, sticky, mass will find its integrity.  Not in gentle handling, but in the pulling and stretching, in the persistent rhythm of turning and folding.  The widow's flour is hope....

I'm contemplating what stretches me, what provides a rhythm...


  1. I have found bread making almost mindless in that you knead the dough and keep adding flour until it feels right but it almost never fails because it is substantial. Not so with more delicate baking like pastry where the outcome is quite uncertain (at least for me). There is also a peace and tranquility in the rhythm of making bread. I find peace & tranquility in the rhythm of going deeper in my relationship with God.

  2. Yes indeed. But I call out the loud cries for hope when making strudel dough.

  3. Integrity is such a wonderful word in this context.

  4. Yes Margaret, it is.