Smushed Bread

April Emery

A few days ago while we were out-and-about I had to pop into the grocery store to get a loaf of bread. I had debated this stop but realized that, with Grace's peanut butter and jelly fetish, there was no way she would let me off the hook.

I was in-and-out, and when we got home I asked Grace if she wanted to help mommy by carrying the bread inside. She proudly grabbed the bread, kind of like a football under her arm, and mosied toward the front door. As I started to open the door...

I noticed Grace's grip had tightened on the bread, and now it was resembling the shape of an hourglass instead of a soft rectangle.

My first thought? "Grace, why did you smush the bread?! Now the pieces are going to be all messed up."

But I didn't voice that. God quickly halted that thought process and helped me see something far more precious. My little girl was doing her very best to hold on to that bread, even if it meant squishing it up a little. She was so proud of herself. You should have seen how she marched into our house with pride and a smile. She dropped the bread on the kitchen floor, and ran off to play with daddy.

I giggled as I stared at this precious loaf of squished up bread laying on my kitchen floor, and thanked God for reminding me of the things that really matter. Helping my daughter to see that she is valued and loved (not to mention a great helper) was way more important than the shape of my slices of bread. The bread would be eaten regardless of it's shape and be forgotten, but my daughter's knowledge of my love and enthusiasm for her would be remember by her for a lifetime. She may not remember this instance specifically, but each circumstance is a brick in the wall. Bit-by-bit she will realize how much she means to me in how I relate to her, even when she squeezes the bread a little too tight.

The last piece of mangled bread will be used at lunch today to make Grace a, what else, PB&J. Maybe I will let her help me make it.