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There is something so primal about kneading dough. The ritual of deep pushing into the palms and then the pulling back with fingers. Turning, lifting and throwing more flour has become my morning therapy. Surely I should be strong enough, like women throughout the ages, to perform this ancient, daily exercise? But as I knead this big lump of dough my arms grow tired and my hands begin to ache. I wonder how this morning activity could nourish me yet exhaust me all at the same time?  

This round ball of dough is my very my own ‘squishy’. Remember squishies? Those ridiculously over-priced stress-ball things that became a craze throughout the schools? Unlike luminous slime, I think the teachers quite liked squishies.  Perhaps this harmless kneading in children’s palms relaxed them, quietened them and helped them focus? 

It certainly helps me do all three. 

My morning kneading regime resumes and I think about the millions of women in this country desperately trying to feed their children. Ready-made bread is expensive but a little yeast and some flour goes a long way. I imagine these women - their much stronger forearms kneading hard and then baking over fires, in old heavy-based pots or in small, make-shift ovens. For many of them this single loaf will nourish a whole family for a day - not just a hungry teenager who unthinkingly devours three slices in a sitting…

 Bread. 

What an amazing, basic beautiful staple! It seems like it’s been part of life forever. For a moment I am taken right back to that historic story…

”And He took bread, and after giving thanks, He broke it, and gave it to them…” (Luke 22:19)

I whisper to myself, “After giving thanks…”

The greatest Teacher reminds me that breaking the bread and giving it to my husband and children must only take place after giving thanks. 

Gratitude must precede everything. For it is gratitude that gives reverence to everyday things: bread, a child’s laughter, a pencil and paper, clean water to wash hands, a husbands embrace, or a warm home.

Locked down in this small and simple river home I think I am learning that life is made up of the small and simple. If I miss these small parts I will miss the whole. Mundane tasks of sweeping, washing and kneading can become epiphanies if I just learn this hard lesson of gratitude. 

Why is saying ‘thank you’ so hard? Why do I so quickly forget? 

Yesterday I woke up irritated. Another night of restless sleep. The mornings are now colder and I didn’t pack my fluffy gown. I walk to the kitchen and see a pile of washing. For a moment I resent our river hideaway because clothes are stained with mud and shorts are smeared with fishy hands. The sink is full of pans and it seems like they’re always left for me to clean. Overnight the ants have descended. 

My teenage son walks in, “I’m hungry Mom!” Why am I not surprised?

“You don’t even know what hunger is!” I snap back at him. I find yesterday’s bread but there’s not much left and the crusts have become hard and unenticing. I will need to make more, but today I don’t feel like my morning therapy, I only feel like coffee and some quiet. 

 But the great Teacher knows me better. He must know that I need this lesson daily - this ritual reminder of flour and water and being grateful. The dough gets sticky on my fingers, I need more flour, I wipe my face.

“Mom, have you seen how funny you look”, my son laughs. 

I look in the mirror. I laugh too. 

At times this Gratitude lesson can be a messy business. The last few months have been properly messy. Our hands are sticky with this virus and we’re struggling to wash it off. So many are hungry and the yeast is finished and the flour tin is empty. 

Yet despite a full pantry, at times I slip into empty self-pity:  How will I work? When will I see my parents? I miss my friends. I hate dirty dishes.

But then I’m brought back - back to my bread-making. The oven is hot and the kitchen is warming.

“The bread smells good Mom”, he says, as he gently wipes the flour from my face. I kiss his slightly stubbly cheek and search my mind for the right thing to say: 

“Thank you”.