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BARNEY’S BEST BREAD

The sign hung over the doorway of the small shop Eleanor had been looking for. It was the new neighborhood bakery everyone was talking about.

She couldn’t resist the fragrance of fresh-baked bread wafting through the doorway. As she crossed the threshold a little bell jingled. The sign above the counter showed a list of choice morsels: 12-grain, cranberry-nut, multi-seed, whole wheat, and dark rye.

“Spread a thick slice with soft creamery butter, bite into it, and you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said, savoring even the thought of the lovely dough and golden spread.

“I brought a couple of loaves home with me,” Eleanor added, “ready to make a hit with my husband. He dove into two at once and in seconds he was licking his lips and fluttering his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx. I knew I had scored several points.”

But when Eleanor reached for a slice herself, her husband Duffy raised an anxious hand and his brows furrowed. “Easy now. You’ve been watching those carbs, remember? I’ll take that off your hands so you won’t be tempted anymore. With that he sauntered out of the kitchen and into his cave––the den––bread and butter in hand. “And I was left holding the bread bag.”

Eleanor kept her secret to herself—the three slices she’d eaten while driving home from Barney’s Best Bread. “There’s always another day––to start watching the carbs.”

After the last slice is cut and the crumbs gathered up, there’s nothing left but the memory. It might be the bread of today, tomorrow, even the next day–but finally it runs out. Only You, dear Lord, are the bread of life–the one who fills our hungry souls and nourishes our spirits as we walk and talk with you.