nonsensical text

Monday, January 08, 2007

the bread of life

sleeping with bread

“And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.” 1 Corinthians 11:24 (KJV)

For this bread, I am extremely grateful, yet there are times when I think my gratitude is not nearly as tremendous as the occasion warrants. That body which was broken for me died in my stead. The gift was freely given in silence.

The life of a mother is often one of small sacrifices. Eating cold food and being awakened in the middle of the night are relatively commonplace. Most of the time, the sacrifices, so small, are well worth it. A single smile from the face of a small member of my gene pool can carry me for days without complaint. But the faces surrounding Jesus on the road to the place of the skull were not full of thankfulness, but jeers. Even those who depended most upon him were filled with fear, doubt, and trembling. And still, he continued with his gift.

Occasionally, my children will come to me in relay fashion. Just as I am finished dealing with the needs of one and I am about to enter into a state of rest, another request will be made known – one which could have been handled at the same time as the previous request had they just been paying attention. The short-tempered mommy monster bares her teeth at these moments - not every time, but often enough for it to be a concern.

I once read that Disney World, in training its employees, tutors with the following instructions, “When someone asks you a question, even if you have heard the same question 3000 times that day, try to remember that it is very likely the first time that particular person has asked it.”

How many times do I sacrifice and give to others with impure motivation? How often am I truly storing up my treasures on earth by seeking gratitude from others, or a warm fuzzy feeling deep inside? How often do I think my motives are pure only to discover, through my own impatience, that giving sacrificially is only appealing to me if someone, somewhere takes note.

Jesus looked down from the cross and said, “Forgive them father; they know not what they do.”



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