Baking bread, and breaking bread

There is something in my need to bake bread.

Something ancient.

Something primitive.

Something beautiful.

"Get a bread maker," I've been told. "It will make things so much easier."

While I'm sure it would, I won't.

Something about combining six simple ingredients binds me to something bigger than myself. Something about the sweat on my brow as I knead the dough connects me to the hundreds of thousands of woman who came before me. 

As I labor over my bread, I am connected to them. I am one with them. We are the same, she and I. As we labor over bread that will sustain our families we are one. 

Six simple ingredients that I am so fortunate to have, connects me to thousands. And after the bread has been baked, it connects me to the ones I hold most dear. The bread that I bake, brings us to the table becoming the bread we will break.

As we sit and eat, our bellies are full. Our lives are full. Our hearts are full.