Just a little heads up before I get into the content of today’s post:
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I like bread. All kinds. Any kind. I like it a lot. In college, my roommate Mandy’s mom would make us her own version of Friendship Bread when we made the long drive to Wyoming for a visit. It was hands down the best bread I have ever ate. I have dreams about that bread. If I close my eyes right now I can almost taste it. SO GOOD.
One college summer, Chris and I spent about 8 weeks in Kazakhstan. As the afternoon sun began sinking, the heavenly aroma of bread filled the streets. We would watch the locals knock on what seemed like random windows, the window would open, money was exchanged for bread. It didn’t take us long to figure out which random window had our favorite bread. Bread is one of those few things that transcends generations and cultures.
There was a short period of time that I made bread. Nothing fancy, but I enjoyed the process. Then life got busy and I stopped. About 7 years ago my grandma got me a really nice bread machine. I used it a handful of times, but all I knew to do was follow the recipes that came with it. I never seemed to have the right ingredients on hand, but I kept trying. Then one day in a conversation, an acquaintance began raving about her homemade bread. She went on and on about how superior her bread was…and not just her bread, but any bread that is made by hands. She basically made me feel like a terrible mother if I served anything but bread made with my hands to my family. I put my bread machine up on a shelf..thinking I would begin making my own homemade bread. I never did. I gave her words power.
Then about a month ago I saw a bread machine mix at the store. They’ve probably been around for a decade, but I had never seen them.
And all of the sudden, my family began enjoying hot bread…fresh out of the bread machine…butter melts the instant it touches it. I can do all the steps in less than a minute. It bakes over 3 hours and fills my home with the best smell.
WARNING: Germ freaks close your eyes. Little boy with really dirty hands eating bread below. Sometimes I forget to remind them to wash their hands. It’s life.
I know some moms make bread with their hands nearly everyday for their families. Maybe one day I’ll be there. Maybe I won’t. I do know that for the last several years, my family has not been enjoying a simple pleasure because I allowed someone else’s words to negatively influence me. Words are powerful, but often we are the ones that give them power. I gave her words power. I allowed her words to sink in enough to cause me to give up on something I enjoy. My bread is from a bread machine. Big deal. My family gets to gather around the table, laughing, smiling, enjoying….and eating hot bread that took me less than a minute to bake. It works for us now. It REALLY works for us now.
Words are powerful. Knowing how easily I can be influenced by the words of others makes me even more grateful for the incredible women I live the ins and outs of life with….friends are powerful. I think I need to have all my girlfriends over for hot bread (and apple cider!).