Bread is toasted each morning. The wee ones feed on quick bowls of bananas and cereal. The toasted bread is for mama ~ to savour and enjoy with milky coffee before the day's work begins.
The sisters are occupied, oblivious to mama's fresh toast. Two are playing zoo with blocks and Little People, while one figures bear pieces into a puzzle board. The littlest one wanders from here to there, simply content in her wanderings.
Mama takes her seat, reaches for the peanut butter, but before the spreading begins a small hand pats her knee. It is the soft, round hand of the littlest one. The grunts and the whines begin and inevitably won't cease until the mouth is fed. The bread is broken. A piece is shared. She wanders back to the living room revealing her treasure to sisters. Not long after, three bigger hands gather around for a taste of mama's morning bread.
This mama complains and grumbles, for can't she just have a few moments to enjoy her breakfast by herself? These children have been fed, their mouths have been filled along with their tummies. Can't this hungry, and increasingly grumpy mama have a moment to feast on her bread alone?
How many mornings must pass before this mama figures it out? How many grumbling words must be spoken before He reminds her of His heart?
Didn't He give thanks and share the bread during the hours of His greatest grief? And didn't He give in love without an inkling of grudge even to the one who would soon betray? Can I not share my bread with thanksgiving too? For a grumbling heart and a thankful tongue tend to contradict.
Can I share the bread and whisper thanks for the perfectly chubby hands of the littlest one? Can I say thanks for the sisters who play together becoming the best of friends? Can words of gratitude be spoken for the squeals of delight when each puzzle piece fits just right?
This morning I crept downstairs to toast bread. Two extra pieces were tossed into the toaster to make certain that bread could be shared with a heart of thanksgiving. I invited the wee ones to share in the breaking of mama's bread.