A few years ago we were reading some relationship enhancing book and it posed the question, "How did you know as a child that your mother loved you?" My husband answered within a nano-second, "Because she baked bread." This was a profound moment for me.
My mother baked bread during my childhood as well. And here all along I thought it was a survival method to keep us from starving to death. But it was love? Heck, even I can do that. And so began my venture of being a bread baker.
It's not that difficult to do. It doesn't cost much - time more than anything. I enjoy it. And I enjoy the results. But it seems life just rolls along and before you know it, 3 months have passed since we last partook of the goodness of my oven. It's not that I love my husband any less. Or that I haven't thought about baking bread. It's just that it didn't happen.
It's not unlike a thousand other possible expressions of love that I could do with little cost and effort but somehow time just marches on: Having coffee with my in-laws. Phoning my parents. Sending a treat to my daughter. Having lunch with a friend... the list goes on. It's not that I love them any less. It's not that I don't think about it. It's just that I don't make it happen.
That being said, I think I'll go whip up a batch of love....