I feel like God is kneading me like the bread dough above (an old picture of a student in Sicily). The motion is cyclical and repetitive. Patiently, again and again, in season after season, God calls my name and asks me to not wander from his statues. His life-giving, world-transforming commandments. His keys to the Kingdom. Like a baker, the Father molds the dough that is me, pushing with the palm of his hand over and over again. The Spirit, in her quiet but potent way, breathes wisdom into me, like the air needed to make the bread light and tender. And Christ, like the yeast, enlivens me with his body.
I doubt this process will ever end: it is the recipe for sanctification. Thank goodness, I am the dough and not the baker, as I shudder at the idea of having to form myself. Thanks be to God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.