My hand aches as I continue to turn the dough. I feel my grandmother’s eyes watching me, calculating how much flour should be put in. I know she is thinking of the hundreds of times she has made the dough, remembering how the smooth bread dough should feel.
She is patient when I am not. She waits and knows that a little of this, and a little more of this makes magic happen. She understands that good things (food included) come to those who wait.
This Easter season, I have so much to learn from her. While waiting for Jesus to rise again, I feel myself becoming impatient and just wanting Easter. But the process makes the product worthwhile. My faith is not defined by the end result, but by the journey I took. By the moments where Christ carried me through.
Just like my grandmother, I need to wait. I need to trust that more of this, and more of that will get the job done.