When is it finished?

     The Amish friendship bread is finished. It now sits on the counter slightly mutilated. Its texture is tough and chewy on the outside and sweet with chocolate chips, sugar and nuts on the inside. It is a siren calling to all who pass. I ate it for dinner, for snack, for breakfast. Last night I woke up sensing I was alone in bed. I looked at the clock next to me and saw the time to be 11:57PM. I knew where Darren was, and in the morning the bread bore additional scars of a midnight confrontation. Now, I can't wait until it is finished on another level, so the temptations in my kitchen are put to rest.

"It is finished" has tremendous historical connotations for Christians and those who follow Christianity. They were the words of Jesus as he hung on the cross, culminating a glorious, miraculous, painful journey. I would venture to say that not one of us believes that at the end of that journey, everything was really "finished."  His works had just begun on a new level and had always existed on an old. So when does something begin and when is it finished? The deeper I think of it, the more I have no answer. The Amish bread began as a timeless thought and expanded until it became a tasty, tangible temptation, and my practical side knows it will live on as part of the earth. Somewhere in the seed of it all an element of faith culminated into a product in my kitchen. I don't know where else to go with that thought right now, but it fills me with wonder and reminds me of Hebrews 11:1 which reads, "Now faith is the assurance ( or substance) of things hoped for, the conviction ( evidence) of things not seen." As I read further down in Chapter 11 of Hebrews, I find these words also, "so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible." The germination of a seed of thought that started with bread and manifested as words on this page is beginning to grow. Where did that thought begin? Will it ever be finished? Is anything ever finished? Whew, time for a rest. My brain is on overload...and there is something calling me from the kitchen.

Love, Linda