bread and water

opening the cupboard doors for the tenth time never made more appear. yet the bareness of reality never kept me from reenacting, perhaps in desperation.

hope. maybe i had hope.

the wheels always turned in me and creativity spurred the most brilliant concoctions as a child:

  • brown sugar and butter makes caramel, sort of
  • bread ends with outdated yogurt and raisins
  • pilot crackers and canned tuna, of course
  • cabbage, lentils and chicken: something i like to call Beluga

growing up and even until now i never understood the virtue in poverty. maybe because i was too poor in other things like spirit at the time.

now though, as an adult, i see how intimate one becomes with God when they are poor. no longer merely self-reliant; when we have nothing else to trust we have only to trust God. if the world turns against us we turn to God. and so in a sense, those we damn and shame and judge (and maybe even yell out the car window, “Get a job!”); those we right off and cast out often have a far more exclusive provision with the Creator, than those who seek to fulfill their needs independently.


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