And Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst.” – John 6:35
Today, before I ate my breakfast; organic, free-range eggs, and sourdough bread with real butter, I prayed over my food that I was doing and would continue to do what I can to take care of my temple.
The bread has always been, and likely always will be, my favorite part. We order ours from a company that uses fresh ingredients and ships frozen. All I have to do is preheat the oven, pop it on the rack for 18 to 20 minutes and enjoy.
I can never wait to cut that first slice, the loaf is warm, its crust a deep crackled gold that shatters under the knife with a satisfying crunch. A thin ribbon of steam escapes, carrying that unmistakable sourdough perfume.
The butter I generously apply melts quickly into the tender interior. That first bite gives a nice crunch, and my taste buds are not satisfied with the mere nibble.
The flavor deepens as I eat; nutty, faintly sweet, and with that signature sourdough flavor. A fresh slice isn’t just food; it’s a perfect moment of warmth and indulgence to me.
You may already know where I’m going with this.
Jesus called himself the bread of life. He isn’t ordinary bread that leaves you hungry again, but the kind that nourishes to the very marrow.
My sourdough warm from the oven and glistening with butter is a fleeting beautiful shadow of that greater reality; daily bread made holy by gratitude, by presence, and by willingness to tear and share.
So, I eat. Slowly and reverently.
And for a moment, my kitchen table feels like holy ground. The loaf is a quiet reminder that life is given, broken, and received with open hands.
Long walks and dark chocolate 