On Sundays, I bake or buy bread and we take communion together, in the hours past loud, when the wild things sleep. But this week, he came home repeating pieces of the Bible lesson from church for the first time and I suggested, let’s include him too.
A candle flickered on the middle of the table making him a captive audience and wondering where the birthday cake was. The dishes were cleared. Baby girl in her high chair drank juice and munched on bread and made demands for the glass that held wine. Her demands were not met.
Daddy took the bread in his hands and broke a decent chunk for Hudson and you could see in his eyes, he was really listening, his mouth stuffed with homemade bread. This is my body. We took the bread. Glassed raised in the air. This is my blood. We took our cup and gave him his. He raised it in the air and declared, “Thank you Jesus!”
A toast for Jesus.