dinner rolls

I didn’t get much sleep on Saturday night, so I woke up on Sunday feeling giddy and spacey. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t find the words I meant to say in conversation, couldn’t remember where I put my car keys the night before.

I had jokingly told friends that I fried my brain while writing the first draft of my book last month, and as I searched under couch cushions and in all my jacket pockets for my keys, and then walked out of the house without my shoes, I thought, “Oh my gosh, it finally happened. My mental screws really did come loose.”

I finally made it out of the house — with keys and shoes — and drove to Starbucks to meet my friend Stephanie before we went to church. I parked my car and realized my stomach was growling. In all my frenzy, I’d forgotten to eat breakfast. I’m morally opposed to paying exorbitant pastry prices, so I looked around my car to see if I had anything edible.

I’d made lunch for a Sunday afternoon dinner party, so in the back seat of my car there was a pot of soup, a bowl of quinoa salad, and a huge bag of rolls I’d gotten on sale from the bakery — two dozen softball-sized rolls for $4.

“That’ll work,” I said, as I opened the bag and put some bread in my purse. As I sat talking to Stephanie over coffee, I reached into my bag and pulled out a roll. “Want one?” I asked.

She blinked. “Did you just pull a roll out of your purse?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Do you want half?”

“But it’s not even wrapped or anything.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not even sexy, like a bagette or something; it’s a dinner roll.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But it’s all I’ve got and I’m hungry.”

“Do you always carry dinner rolls around in your bag?” she asked.

“No, but I should,” I said. And then I pitched the idea like a Sham-Wow rep on the home shopping network.  ”Rolls are perfect for snacking. And you know how there are always homeless people on the street corners begging for food? These would make great hand-outs. They’re even shaped like baseballs, so they have good aerodynamics. You could just do a bread drive by — you wouldn’t even have to get out of the car!”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to pelt homeless people with dinner rolls?” she said.

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered her. “That could be my thing, you know? My signature. I’ll be the crazy Roll Lady who throws bread out of moving vehicles.” And then I started giggling, because it was a funny mental image, and my sleep deficit made it seem downright hilarious.

I tried to stifle the giggles as I walked into church a few minutes later. I had a hard time concentrating on the sermon, so I ended up letting my mind wander until it settled on the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000. These poor people had been listening to Him talk for days and hadn’t eaten anything, and they were starving. Jesus told the disciples to feed the crowd, and they balked, because where are they going to get the money to cover takeout for a few thousand people? And Jesus said, “Just give me what you have.”

All they had was a lunch bag they wrestled from the hands of a kid, with two sardines and five little dinner rolls. And the disciples watched in wonder as Jesus multiplied the boy’s Jewish Lunchable into a meal for 5,000 people.

As I remembered the story, I thought of how anxious I’ve been about the book I’m writing. Of how my brain short circuits when it’s missing even a few hours of sleep. Of how overwhelming it is to try to solve the world’s problems of hunger and poverty when I can’t even feed all the homeless people here in Portland. Of how Jesus doesn’t isn’t asking me to be a superhero. He’s holding out His hands and saying, “Just give me everything you have.”

So I empty out my bag and surrender some spare change and a dinner roll. And as I hand it over, I apologize for being a space cadet who’s so easily distracted, I sometimes forget to eat breakfast.

And then I watch in wonder as He loves me anyway, and uses sardines and spare change and dinner rolls to change the world.

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