Personal // Like Challah Broken

Shabbat is like a whisper of calm, a gentle breeze of peace that floats in through the windows as the sky turns to fire. The music low, the candles lit, the glasses filled, the bread broken. And now, just me alone in the rocker with Mr. Kitten snuggled over my arm as I type. The house quiet. The boys asleep. Mom at the table with the lights dim, book open. 

After one crazy week, peace feels so good. 

My life is not your typical American stereotype. It's a lot of reaching out, a lot of giving, and least I sound like a selfless religious angel, it's often a lot of giving I don't like to do.

Giving my time during a busy week. Giving my family when I feel like I haven't had much time with them myself. Giving our food and money when we're not sure when the next paycheck is coming. Giving up my schedule. Giving when it doesn't feel like it's appreciated. 

This week was a long one (you know, typical stuff- neighbor got arrested, another friend had a texting fight that got sent to our phone, huge misunderstanding over e-mail, having one hour notice before picking up a young teenage girl from the inner city, having said girl's stay turn into a week and a half instead of the originally planned four days, and completely feeling overwhelmed at the ticking clock as we rush to get packed for Israel. yep, can't see how it could get more typical than that), and peace is what my heart has been longing for. 

I've been broken- broken like challah, then passed around. Passed around until I feel like there is no crumb left for myself. 

That's a place I never want to be. 

If I'm at that place, I turn bitter- self-focused instead of other-focused. Too consumed about my own comfort that I withhold that last morsel of nutrition for myself instead of giving it to another soul in desperate need. When I don't like to give- of my time, family, resources, of myself- it's because my eyes have strayed from the goal. 

I'm not asked to give only to those who appreciate. I'm asked to give it all, to all, as He has given to me. 

I have truly experienced that it is more blessed to give than to receive. The neighbor arrested? His mother was the first ones to call us for help. It's wonderful to feel needed. The e-mail mix-up? It was a self-check for us to respond with humility. We all need to stop and look in the mirror of Scripture. To examine. Scrutinize. Become holy as He is holy. The inner city girl? She taught me so much- from grace and unshakeable faith to what areas of the city to avoid (yikes), what weave is (total enlightenment), and how squatters turn on the water and electric (not that I needed that. just sayin'). Everyone is a teacher if our hearts are willing to become a student. 

And packing? It'll get done, even though we'll blink and time is up. What's needed will end up in the suitcases, even if one of us forgets something else. It'll get done, because this is what Yehovah God has called our family to- and He's asking we step out of the boat and onto the waves. Giving to His people. Giving to His Land. 

When you live with hands cracked open to grace, you will be broken and poured out and- even in the chaos and drama- you will be blessed sevenfold. 

Shabbat shalom...sabbath peace...it fills the rooms on our last weekend together, and I cannot begin to imagine the lessons and the blessings this new venture will bring. 

And being broken like bread, passed around? Isn't this what Yeshua has done for us? Do it- whatever sacrifice or giving you're asked to do- in remembrance of Him.