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Published on:
May 14, 2019
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2 min.
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Grain Offerings

An imaginative reading of Leviticus chapter 2.

I imagine the griddle heating up in the receding dark. It is early morning and a young mother yawns, searching her kitchen for the flour she set aside. The flour that has been sifted over and over again - fine - like dust. She has hidden it on the highest shelf. The one her children can’t reach.

She arose early, just for this.
Rachel Joy Welcher

She sifts the flour again, one more time, letting it fall like a heap of snow on the counter, powdering her dress. She marvels at the worship of this task, in the quiet morning of her kitchen. She arose early, just for this. To capture the stillness that the sunrise steals away. To let herself bake this cake slowly. The bread that will be offered to God.

She smiles through tears. It has been a weary week, but God has continued His mercy. Her tiredness and joy mingle together as she pours out the oil like a prayer. Aaron may be the one to crumble this grain offering before God, but she is the one who smooths the dough, stretching it tight to create the perfect crust.

Add salt to all your offerings, she reminds herself, dusting the cake with flavor. This bread is for God.

Her littlest one smells the cakes and hears the oil crackling. She stretches her tiny limbs, rises from her cot, and wanders over to her mother, hugging her legs. She wonders what is for breakfast.

Add salt to all your offerings, because Aaron and his sons will eat a portion. This is how we honor God. This is how we care for His people. With warm cakes made from the finest flour. She bends down and smoothes her daughter’s hair.

Add salt to all your offerings. Knead the dough of worship. Sprinkle the flavor of praise.

The night before Easter, I trimmed the stems off eighty flowers, arranging them in a bowl. The next morning, children, with grandparents, fathers, and sons all grabbed a stem and walked them up to the cross, where they placed them strategically, to fill in all the gaps. Until the entire cross was flowered. Until the only wood we could see was the base, covered in yellow, peeling paint. Until the flowers took on the shape of Calvary. An offering, in the early morning, to God.


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Rachel Joy Welcher
Rachel Joy Welcher is an editor-at-large at Fathom Magazine. She earned a Master’s degree in theology from the The University of St. Andrews, taught high school English for ten years, is a published poet (Blue Tarp, Finishing Line Press), and writes for magazines such as Cordella, RELEVANT, and The Gospel Coalition. She lives with her husband Evan, who is a pastor in Glenwood, Iowa.

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