Of Bread and Temptation

It's been a surprise, this business of going without bread. I had no idea how far its yeasty little tentacles reached.

My pantry has suffered. I have nothing on which to put my peanut butter. The honey has been relegated to saving space on the shelf. And that's just the start.

My friends are getting dirty looks from restaurant staff. The other night, my friend Arline and I went out to eat. When the server brought the bread, Arline immediately reached out and pulled the basket out of my reach. As the wave of shock and disapproval crossed the server's face, we both jumped to explain that it was Lent, I had given up bread, and Arline was just removing temptation.

It's affecting my kid-time. My youngest son stopped by last week and went into the kitchen to make a sandwich to eat while we visited. There was meat and cheese - but no bread. He left to get some supper elsewhere, taking our visit with him.

Goofy Pooch usually has her medicine tucked into a bit of bread each night. Turns out, doggy biscuits aren't so good at absorbing liquid medicine.

I had dinner with my parents on Friday night. Do you know how hard it is to pass up a piece of fresh, warm cornbread on a chilly evening?

There's a whole aisle at the grocery store I don't go down now; I've had to change my route.

This seemingly endless ripple-effect caused by no bread casts a new light for me on the description of Jesus as the "bread of life". Not just a most basic food; not just the comfort of warmth and fragrance: but a part of all those other, simple areas of life we never really consciously think about.

And even after Lent is over, and I can go back to enjoying bread, there's one more thing I've learned this season: it's a true friend who will pull temptation out of your reach.