Homemade Bread

A few years ago my Aunt bought me a bread maker for Christmas. There is nothing like the smell of fresh baked bread. It even has a sinful little timer that you can set so that the bread will start mixing and kneading several hours before you wake up. This is so you can be coxed out of bed with a mouth-watering smell of freshness. Absolute evil!

There is a difference in bread makers and store bought bread. The bread you buy in the store is light, soft, and usually has little taste. Bread makers usually end up making bread that is thick, hearty, and full of different flavors. Sometimes they don’t turn out just perfect; (for whatever reason I really have not figured out) nevertheless, you still slap some butter on it and eat it anyway (as if you were the one who slaved for it).

This past Sunday night was an experience similar to waking up to homemade bread. To anyone who was not in service at Life Tabernacle, you missed something to feast from. Sis. Nona Freeman, with inspiration in the Holy Ghost, gifted to Life Tabernacle a steaming hot, hearty, freshly baked, mouth-watering loaf of bread. Sunday morning was a great service; however, Sunday evening was the reason she came. This anointed and powerful lady of God challenged our church to move into the ‘Power Dimension.’ And it was powerful.

The Word that she delivered from God had been a message several years in the making. As she read each verse of scripture she discussed where and when God had revealed to her the steps for getting into the Power Dimension. Once she announced the last step, she became very weak, and could hardly stand at the pulpit. Our pastor, nurses in our congregation, and others came to the platform to help out. For a mere moment no one in the congregation knew what to do. Then it happened. Life Tabernacle unsheathed her sword.

Not one person in the church failed to fight for Sis. Freeman and the remainder of our service. The whole congregation was unified in spiritual warfare. Sis. Freeman herself said she was being attacked by the enemy to prevent the next part of the service from taking place. What a miserable failure his attack turned out to be. Within moments Sis. Freeman’s strength began to return. Our ninety-something year old evangelist laid her hand on almost every head in our church. Old people, young people, sick people, well people, anyone whose faith was strong enough to come was strengthened beyond measure.

Sunday evening was a feast. Not a feast of high fashion, but a feast that was right down where one lived. A feast that was hearty and filling. A feast that lingers with you days after it’s over. The bread we ate Sunday night was the type of bread that had to be torn with your hands- pulled apart and eaten in large bites with lots of chewing. It was bread that had been made with time- a life time in fact. Bread that had been prepared by hand.