She’d taken only a single bite of her barbecue chicken-leg, and the rest of us were already backing chairs away from the table. I scraped chicken bones into the garbage can, as Lydia hovered over a full plate.
“Mommy?” she asked. “Do you think everybody’s taste buds are different or something? Because I don’t really like this chicken. And at school? A lot of the kids bring popcorn for snack, and I don’t like the popcorn at all.”
“We all have different tastes,” I said. “But our tastes change, too.” As a child, I told her, I once gagged over a plate of pesto-chicken pasta, sickened by the sight of green globs stuck to stringy noodles.
And then I reminded her: we had pesto on our pasta just the other night. “It’s one of my favorites now,” I told her. “Be patient, because your tastes might just change.”
And in the corner of room, I see the Bread.
I grew up with Bread on the shelf — and that’s where I kept it: on the shelf.
The leather-bound Food for Souls could have satisfied every hunger I had — but I rarely ingested it.
Even as I grew older, I didn’t scoop these Words onto the plate.
I didn’t eat Bread
stale in my mouth
like crackers that left my tongue thick
I feasted on the world
and all it had to offer
hungered for fame
got my fill of self
and manmade idols dripping chocolaty with
A buffet of me.
And in a day, I was hungry again
Tummy growling for real food.
I came to the table hungry
“Pass the Bread please.”
Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life.
He who comes to me will never go hungry. …”
— John 6:35
I feast on these Words now. I eat this Book, this Bread of Life. And I’m playing ravenous catch-up for years past. I teach 20-year-olds at a Christian college, and tell them they probably know the Bible better than me, their journalism teacher.
And they probably do.
But it’s not too late for a 37-year-old to fill her plate with ancient Words that taste new, to digest them so regularly that they become a part of the marrow. I’m dining on Bread.
PHOTO: Passages I’m committing to memory,
using a tool that converts verses to just one letter per word.
Click here to use the online resource.
It’s not too late for me to memorize. My brain works more slowly than it once did, but I’m not too old for this. It’s never too late for this….
This week, I have begun a new journey through Scripture. At the prompting of Ann Voskamp, with whom I join weekly at “Walk With Him Wednesday,” I am memorizing Romans 8. This brain can’t handle the whole chapter at once, so I’m starting in verses 28-39.
I’m using a memorization technique with the help of an online tool that converts your passages to just one letter per word. It’s a technique that helps burn words into the mind. (This Iowa mama — hungry for Bread — offers thanks to Ann Kroeker and to Ann Voskamp for sharing this technique. Isn’t the Body of Christ beautiful, passing ideas from hand to hand, heart to heart?)
And it’s already working! These ancient words are igniting a fresh fire in my soul, prompting tears to sting these eyes as they scan letters over and over again. I feel them finding a home within.
“F I a c t n d n l, n a n d, n t p n t f, n a p, n h n d,
n a e i a c, w b a t s u f t l o G t i i C J o L.”
(These letter represent the tail-end of the Scriptures I’m committing to memory this week. Do you recognize these words? Aren’t they lovely? And to think: This is just one crumb of the Bread. We shall NEVER go hungry.)
I join Ann each Wednesday.
I am so blessed to walk with that community over there,
growing in grace together.