As I turned bread out from a bowl to knead yesterday, dipping my hand into a full bin of fine white flour to dust the table top, flour flying with abandon, I thought of the widow in Sunday's reading. I imagine her scraping her flour bin, with its bits of grindstone that had settled to the bottom, reserving virtually nothing to keep the dough from sticking. There is an expression of persistent hope there that I suspect you don't grasp until you've struggled with dough that sticks to everything in sight, including your hands.
I love the percussion under this setting, that reminds me of the rhythm of kneading, of pulling and stretching and turning that takes the recalcitrant dough and turns it into a loaf.
What stretched you musically this weekend? What provided a rhythm for the week to come?
Share with us in the comments!