"Risen"

 

The Lord Jesus Christ stood next to me in the kitchen while I waited for the oven timer to ring.

"You know what's really a miracle," He said, "is how someone figured out to add raisins and cinnamon to the dough. Human creativity is never going to stop amazing me."

"I'll just be amazed if this comes out right," I told Him. "I've never tried this recipe before, and baking isn't exactly my strength."

The timer went off.

"Done," I said. "I think."

"'A time to every purpose under heaven,'" He said. We both crouched and peeked through the window.

The dough had risen and was now transformed from a flat, pale mass into a loaf of bread, its golden crust set perfectly above the pan. I slipped a pot holder onto one hand and grabbed the door handle with the other. Before I opened the oven, though, I turned to the Lord.

"I'm not a Christian," I told Him, "though I imagine You know that already. I mean, I respect that it works for some people, makes sense to them and helps them behave better, but for me...." I shook my head.

"I know," He said. "And, you know, I'm sad about it, of course, but I understand. It's cool." And I understood that it was: in His hand he produced a dish of real butter, sweet cream, no preservatives, for us to use--the good stuff. Truly, I thought, this love knows no bounds.

Together we took the pan from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. "So, this is my mom's special cinnamon raisin bread," I said. "Um, take and eat?"

He laughed. "Please, trust me when I say this," He told me, "it smells divine. Now, do you happen to have a couple of fish around here that I could, you know, multiply and serve as well?"

I stared at him.

"Ah, I'm just playing," Jesus said. "That would be nasty. Let's give this bread a try, shall we?"

For a second, I was almost ready to put my faith in miracles. The bread was perfectly cooked on the inside as well.