This morning, as is my custom, before I read anything or turned on the computer or spoke with any one, I enjoyed coffee–one cup, lots of milk, no sugar, extra hot–and two cookies. Made them myself.
The first sip melts its way down to my stomach radiating warmth through my entire core. Pause. Rehearse my morning mediation: “Grace and peace. . . . Grace . . . . . . . . and Peace.”
Then the first bite of cookie, dense with whole wheat flour and oatmeal, interrupted with the glorious flavor and texture of a chocolate chip. Chew. . . . Savor. . . . Rehearse . . . . Exhale.
Wait.
Another sip. Flavor on the tongue. Heat in my mouth. Warmth flowing into my gut. Rehearse.
My mind wanders: Life of God received. Heat. Liquid. Flavor. Texture. I give thanks. Savor. Wait. Enjoy.
Bite of cookie. Chew. Savor. Give thanks. Life of God received.
This single bite connects me with a web of thousands, all children of God. All animated by his life-giving spirit. Wheat farmers. Cocoa growers. Sailors. Train engineers. Hourly workers in the factory that made the combine that gathered the wheat. Bankers. Grocery story cashiers. The older sisters who watched their little brothers and sisters while mom and dad worked.
The lingering taste of chocolate connects me with them all and with the God of them all.
It takes half an hour to receive one cup and two cookies.
I finish. Life of God received. Thank you. Eucharist. Coffee and cookie. Communion.
I begin my day. My prayer: make me, too, an agent of divine warmth and holy sustenance.
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