Monday's Sunday Thought

Not to make you put your church clothes back on when it's Monday already, but I'm going to share a Sunday thought with you.  I thought I'd warn you.  I've been sitting here trying to think of something funny and light to say instead because I feel like I've been getting waaaaaaaay too melodramatically contemplative lately.  But, this is what has been on my mind the last little bit, so it's what I've got to share.

So my husband is in charge of the young men at church.  And when I say young men, I actually mean young man.  The young men are in charge of preparing and serving the sacrament.  And bless this young man's soul, he's not quite ready to take over the whole operation.  That means my husband is the sacrament coordinator.  And for me the past couple of weeks, that has meant that I'm the bread provider.  Which I didn't completely realize was going to happen.

A couple of Sundays ago the sacrament came around and I noticed it was homemade bread in the tray.  And then I started chewing the bread and I knew it was my homemade bread.  My first thought was, "Ah man, why did he bring a loaf of our bread for the sacrament.  If he would have told me I would have gotten a loaf of bread from the store.  Now I'm going to have to make bread a day earlier than I thought I was going to have to.  Doggone it!"  Now you know the true depths of my soul.  Luckily for my everlasting salvation that thought was quickly followed up by the thought, "Wait a minute.  Wait a dad burned minute.  What in the world are you thinking Jessica?  Get a hold of yourself, geez.  My bread is the sacrament bread.  This is my teeny-tiny contribution to the memory of a Savior who lived and died for me.  I should be wishing that I had known that I would be providing the sacrament bread so I could have grown the wheat, threshed it, picked out the best kernals, ground it up, mixed it all by hand, kneaded it the full eight minutes, and then watched over it in the oven to make sure it didn't get too brown.  I didn't do enough."  Even though I realized overwhelmingly that there was never any way I could ever do enough, struggle enough, be detailed enough to make the bread I'd want to for the sacrament, I wished I'd done more."

That thought, the wish that I had done more, that made the sacrament much more meaningful than it has been for me in a while.