In November, I decided to start making my own bread from scratch by creating a sourdough starter. There’s something so simple yet deeply fulfilling about providing fresh, homemade bread for my family—knowing exactly what’s in it, watching it come to life, and sharing something made with care.

Every morning, I get up and feed my starter. Some days, I bake. Other days, I just let it rise and fall, learning from its rhythm. It has taught me patience, a quiet hope—hoping the loaf will rise, hoping it will be nourishing and delicious. In many ways, baking has been therapeutic.

This past week, though, was anything but normal. My dad underwent a life-altering, 14-hour surgery, and that meant my time, energy, and focus were far from my usual daily routine. Between hospital visits and being present for my family, I hadn’t fed my starter since Monday morning. It just sat there, untouched, starving in my bottom oven.

When I finally checked on it, I found a layer of hooch on top—a clear sign it was hungry. My heart sank. I had poured so much time, effort, and joy into this starter, and I didn’t want it to be ruined. I prayed, “Father God, give me this day my daily bread.” I asked Him to help restore what I had neglected, not just in my sourdough, but in my heart.

And then it hit me—John 6:35:

“I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.”

I had been in the book of John this week, meditating on the story of Lazarus. Jesus knew Lazarus would rise, yet he still wept. “Jesus wept.” That moment of mourning resonated deeply with me because Jesus didn’t skip over the grief—he entered into it. He comforted those around him, even knowing the miracle to come.

This week, I mourned too—not in the same way, but in the weight of uncertainty, exhaustion, and the emotions of watching someone I love go through something so intense. And while my dad may be different now, and communicating with him will never be the same, I am holding onto the truth that God is the one who provides life. In the midst of all of this, He has given me great lessons, and He has shown me His promises in big ways.

And then—my starter, which had been starving for days, doubled in size in just two hours.

It was like God was showing me: Lean into me. Trust me. Surrender to me. I will sustain you.

And He did.

Not only did I feel His presence, but I learned something else—sourdough is forgiving, just like God. Even after days of neglect, it came back to life when it was nourished. Just like God welcomes us back when we return to Him.

It’s no coincidence that leavened bread is mentioned throughout the Bible—so many times as a symbol of life, provision, and even faith itself. This moment was yet another reminder that God was using this new passion of mine to speak to my heart.

And yesterday, I made some of the best little rolls I’ve ever baked. What normally takes 24 hours happened in just 7. Call it small, call it silly, but I believe that when we truly surrender and let go of our own plans, God moves. He does big things. He still works miracles—even in the simple act of making bread.

So today, I’m resting in that truth. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll go bake another loaf.