Warm Bread with Butter

I was doing fine. Really. 36 hours till the movers would arrive.

The house looked like a tornado had blown through (still does). Piles everywhere. And I was trying really hard to keep it together emotionally. I even laughed a couple times today.

Then at 6pm tonight, someone knocked on my door. It was a friend, her arms laden with a hot dinner for our family. Chicken straight off the grill, steamed broccoli, brown rice pilaf, and watermelon. She walked through my disaster of boxes, bags, piles, and debris, the smell of dinner wafting behind her.

We cleared a spot on my dining room table and hunted for the paper products that were hiding under some boxes of Macaroni and Cheese.

And then she uncovered the bread. Hot from the oven. I burst into tears--surprising myself. I guess I was more stressed than I was allowing myself to acknowledge. The dinner was such a gift!

I had planned on frozen pizza, instead my family ate, among other things, warm bread with butter. And I sat down and enjoyed every bite.