From time to time I will bake a loaf of bread. I started baking bread when I got divorced in 2013 because kneading dough was a healthy way of expressing my anger. Plus at the end there was always a delicious, warm loaf of bread. I love fresh-baked bread.

The first Lenten season I experienced post-divorce was like a balm on my soul. The liturgy seemed to match my dark and twisty mood, so I really got into the season. During Holy Week on Maundy Thursday, I baked a loaf of bread and opened a bottle of red wine. (I also love red wine.) I remembered Jesus’ last meal with his friends while I ate the warm bread and drank the deep-red wine. He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and shared it.

Took. Blessed. Broke. Shared.

I’ve done this every Maundy Thursday since, but sometimes I don’t need a Maundy Thursday to bake some bread and drink some wine.

I baked a loaf of rosemary bread last week and poured myself a glass of wine (A bottle that Michael brought back from Israel/Palestine called Cana Wedding Wine!). I took the loaf, cheers-ed Michael, broke the bread, and shared it with him.

Took. Blessed. Broke. Shared.

This time I thought also about Jesus’ body and the way it was taken and broken. Probably because my emergency C-section has had lasting effects and I feel like I was taken and broken. My body was also blessed and shared.

Row grew inside of my body for over nine months. I feel blessed to have experienced a full-term pregnancy—all the wiggles, kicks, stretching, and growing. I shared my body, my nutrients, and my brain cells with Row as he grew. Then at the last minute of my labor, I was taken off from the birth center to the hospital where the surgeon had to break apart my body to get Row out safely.

Took. Blessed. Broke. Shared.

Michael and I ate the whole loaf of bread in one sitting. It was delicious. And the wine was pretty good too.

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