1950's Cliche' and Bread

This past weekend was near perfect. 

For those who, like me, enjoy reading people’s Facebook “statusi” (the imaginary plural of “status”) you will already know what I did. 

Saturday:

-       Wake up, shower, have nice cup of coffee, and manage to get 0.5 seconds of quiet time before the kids woke up.  At this rate, if I can add 0.5 seconds everyday, I’ll work my way to one hour of quiet time in 19.74 years…and yes…I actually did the math.  But, hey.  I’ll take any victory I can get….so this day had a good start.

-       Blow eggs out of their shell into a bowl.  Cook eggs for breakfast.  Save shells for Easter egg dyeing.  Score one for efficiency.

-       Head out to the Spring Hill Little League Opening Ceremonies.  Cowboy Troy (of Big and Rich Fame) tosses the first pitch, my boy wins a bat bag in the raffle, and I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time to 1950’s middle America. 

-       We get home and then I have a nice drive through a beautiful part of town for a lunch meeting.  I almost get lost on the way home but have a great time of it and manage to get back to my house.

-       The dog we’re dogsitting arrives and the kids play while I grill dinner.  Unlike the 1950’s, I grill chicken, not steak. 

-       We eat dinner and then I set up the tent in the back yard so the boys and I can camp out. 

-       Laura makes an apple crisp

-       Bed.

Sunday

            -Awoken by the singing of birds.

-Laura makes homemade scones that shame the dry monstrosities they sell at Starbucks and could compete with those made by an old British lady. 

            -Church.

So, why do I give you the annotated itinerary of my weekend? 

To gloat?

No!

Ok….maybe a little.

To prove that my life is a “Leave It To Beaver” episode where the parents don’t sleep in separate beds?

No.

It’s because I’m thankful.

I’m filled with a deep sense of gratitude that I am able to have a 1950’s, Americana, cliché’ weekend.

And, of course, that made me think about something that one of my pastors said at church today. 

As we were getting ready to take communion, he read from the Bible where Jesus is eating the Passover meal.  Jesus took the bread, and He gave thanks.

The Greek word is “eucharisteō” where many denominations get the term “Eucharist”

Anyway, as I was, at the pastor’s suggestion, thinking about things I was thankful for, I realized that I was coming up with all the “spiritual” answers. 

Which is strange because this was all taking place inside my own head….and who have I to impress inside there?

And then it hit me that I was trying to impress God.

This, of course is even more ridiculous than trying to impress myself.

But there I was doing it. 

And so I stopped. 

I stopped being so self-righteous and began thanking God for the basic simple things.  Things like Little League and scones. 

And then I kept being thankful for the not-so-nice things.

After all, while I’m sure that fresh, homemade, 1^st century unleavened bread is much better than the glorified saltine matzo they have now, it’s still unleavened bread. 

It’s still the bread of haste, rush, and busy.

It’s the hard bread of those who are about to be free but aren’t yet. 

And for Jesus, it’s the bread of His body about to be broken in one of the most terrible forms of execution in all of history. 

But he takes it and gave thanks.

And so should I.