Cornbread for the soul.

Could it be as simple as cornbread?

As I went to bed last night I was aware of a great restlessness in my soul. There were several different factors contributing to this state, details of which are not immediately relevant. I slept fitfully and not well. When I awoke the same anxieties were at work. My morning devotion was right on target… reminding me to put everything in the hands of Jesus… the big, the small, the in-between. And oh, also, that most of it is small, in the cosmic perspective.

Walking the dogs helped. The morning was crisp and cool. Constantly pulling them back onto the path when they wandered off to sniff the bushes was a welcome distraction. During the times when they were obediently sticking to the wide walking path I took as an opening to cast my thoughts skyward and tell Jesus I really needed him today, both as Savior and Friend.

But still the tremors tremor. Clearly what is called for is a trip up the stairs to the sacred silence of my office and the company of such meditative heroes as Francois Fenelon and Saint Augustine.

But then on my way up, balancing the coffee in one hand and my journal in the other, I spied it. The bag from Boston Market, sitting on the counter. I knew it contained two leftover cornbread muffins from our Saturday night dinner with the grandkids. And then as I grabbed the bag, ready to dive in, the label on the outside brought me to a screeching halt. It read, “Cornbread for the Soul.”

I sat down. I ate it. It was good. And suddenly my soul was at peace.

Could it be as simple as cornbread?

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