There I stood at the door unaware my presence was already known, confused that I was expected, yet basking in the scent of baking bread beckoning me home. The cooking pot on the stove was larger than I had ever seen, animatedly exhaling the scent of pure love, bowed adoration bubbling from within. The radio announced itself prominently in the foreground, blasting out hymns of unending praise for She who was and is and is to come.
The dancing Mother who owned this kitchen, as well as all that was, seen and unseen, swayed and sang with mesmerising, infectious joy and glee. The ladles and wooden spoons all tuned in to Her Holy Holy Holy reverence of self, genuflecting in unison to Her real presence. This kitchen was filled with love from ceiling to floor; settled on the shelves, swishing in the cupboards, sizzling in the oven, simmering on the stove – the aroma was blissful!
What was it about this place; utterly familiar, reminiscent of home, yet I knew that I was far from all that I had known. It smelt different, felt somehow unorthodox, seemed to taste undisputedly scrumptious. My senses were heightened, I was experiencing everything as never before, and yet I had never known anywhere else. The noise grew, like turning the radio up, but more muffled; the table – everything – had turned to meet and greet the bread.
He looked straight into my eyes, his own still warm and glistening from meeting Her glorious gaze; “This precious body, broken for you.” He offered an abundance of bread fresh from the oven, broken and warm, waiting to be devoured. Suddenly we were all seated around the table, the four of us. Bread was given – I ate and was full – then came the wine, which he still felt as blood, and yet freely gave. I closed my eyes and basked in the beauty of now.
Gradually all became quiet; the heavenly music began to fade, only the tick of the clock remained. The smell of fresh bread and the cooking on the stove grew faint, I knew I was alone now, seated at my own, lifeless, kitchen table. The sheer love and joy lingered though, laced through my being. My hand moved across the table finding breadcrumbs between my fingers – a reminder of that real presence of God, sharing a meal around this humble kitchen table.
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