Opinions expressed in this piece are solely those of the author.
My people were farmers, men who planted kernels of wheat in dry prairie dirt. They sowed in hope, and they prayed for rain. At harvest time, the golden stalks undulated, row upon tossing row, at the relentless wind’s behest. Then came the crushing that turned fully ripened grain into the flour that found its way into kitchens, flour that became our daily bread.
If comfort has an aroma, it is surely the scent of baking bread. As a 12-year-old girl on the Plains, I learned how to make bread, a skill that has kept my job approval ratings sky high in these parts. Sliced hot from the oven, slathered with real butter, and topped with homemade strawberry jam, it is a piece of heaven. A single cry, “Bread’s ready!” could bring five sets of molars and ten feet thundering into my kitchen, arguments and fistfights forgotten. World peace, it seems, begins here.
Baking good bread is a science. There are many factors that determine how the finished product will turn out—the type of flour, the grind (coarse or fine), the altitude, and temperatures all play a role. Then there is the element of time.
You simply cannot make instant bread. The yeast must do its work, and this takes time. Put it in the oven too soon, and you’ll have small, dense loaves. Patience in the kitchen is a critical attribute, for a baker’s pride lies in soft, fluffy loaves, fine in texture, that melt in your mouth.
What is true in the kitchen is true for our children, especially those who struggle. As a writer and speaker, I’ve heard many heartbreaking stories from parents of prodigal kids. As a mother, I had a prodigal kid. And my “loaf?” His return to us was a process that we could not rush.
Just as yeast works silently inside the dough, causing it to expand ever so slowly, so the yeast of love did the silent work in my son. Applying force and pressure was futile; counterproductive, in fact, and we learned to take our hands off.
On baking days, I gently cover the bowl of fresh dough with a towel, setting it in a warm place so it can rise. That’s what I did with my prodigal. I covered him with prayer and tucked him into a warm place, the hands of God, letting Love do its hidden work. And all the while, Love was doing its own work in me.
If you are the parent of a struggling “loaf,” do not panic. Take a deep breath, tuck him or her in, and set them in a warm, quiet place. Let the yeast of love and patience do its hidden work. Meanwhile, allow that same yeast to do its work in you. As you practice patience, you will experience an expansion in your soul that will bring ease and a certain sense of relief. The end result will be something beautiful, benefiting not only you, but those who sit at your table.
Of note, there is a crushing process that must take place before making bread. Those grains I mentioned? They must be ground into flour. This requires excruciating pressure and what appears to be destruction.
Such is life, not just for us, but for our children as well. Our adult sons have already suffered disappointment, delays, denials, and seasons of waiting. For me, it’s harder to see my sons going through it than to go through it myself. Time and experience have taught me, though, that these things are necessary.
What is being formed here is character. Just as the kernels of wheat must be crushed before they can be turned into delicious bread with butter and jam, so the human heart must be refined and transformed. That’s what suffering does.
Wisdom comes this way. In all of life’s experiences, wisdom waits to be found, and suffering often teaches the loudest.
It is a strong character infused with such wisdom that will keep one standing through the storms of life. A tree with broad, reaching branches may look indestructible, but if its roots are shallow, it will come crashing down in a raging tempest. The crushings of life can develop our roots and help us sustain those vast, spreading branches.
Once again, do not go by what your eyes can see. This is the essence of faith, the most precious ingredient in a life that’s marked by miracles.
In seasons of crushing, do not give way to despair. Do not give in to the temptation to “bake the bread” before it’s time. Hold still for yet a little while, allowing divine wisdom to guide you, for it will.
Your children are watching. As you go through the crucible, let them see your patience, your resilience, your love of truth, and the humility that’s found in the quiet place. Allow them a ringside seat to your own growth in character. In this way, you will be the vast, spreading tree beneath which they and so many others will find shade and shelter. May God bless you on your way.
If you would like to hear James Golden and America’s small, caffeinated mom discussing today’s essay, tune in to the syndicated James Golden Radio Show on a station near you. If it’s Saturday, you’ll find them there.
