The End of Lent

I have to be honest: giving up bread as my Lenten sacrifice didn't turn out quite like I expected it to.

At first, the sacrifice was indeed sacrificial. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are pretty lame (not to mention messy) without bread. No french toast, no hot cornbread, no bread pudding. I had to change my shopping routines. And occasionally the smell of fresh bread at a restaurant made me salivate like a Pavlovian dog.

But who knew that just beyond those well-worn patterns lay a whole new comfort zone waiting to be explored?

It started out in little things. Trying new dishes that didn't need bread. Getting a little more creative in the kitchen. (This, from the woman who put a home-baked cake in front of her children once only to hear them exclaim, "You mean you don't HAVE to buy them?")

Then it became deeper, as I reflected on how the smallest of changes can offer new possibilities. Or realized that I am more a creature of habit than I would ever have wished to admit.

And finally, during this past Easter week as I pondered events from long ago, I realized that the absence of bread had become as significant to me as its presence.

Lent did not end for me this year at sunrise on Easter morning. It came to a close during the Eucharist later that day with the pastor's words, "The bread of life - take and eat..." And I did and the circle was closed.

But in the continued interest of honesty, I should also admit that Monday morning found me at the store, feverishly stocking up on sourdough rolls...