lessons from the kitchen {on rising}

Written by KrisCamealy

As a sequin-wearing, homeschooling, mops-coordinating mother of four, Kris Camealy is passionate about Jesus and her family. Her heart beats to share the hard, but glorious truth about  life in Christ with anyone who will listen. When she's not writing, she gobbles up books like they're going out of print and plays in the kitchen. She's been known to take gratuitous pictures of her culinary creations, causing mouths to water all across Instagram. Once upon a time, she ran 10 miles for Compassion International, a ministry for which she serves as an advocate. You can read more of her heart-words in her new book, Holey, Wholly, Holy: A Lenten Journey of Refinement, and on her blog Kris Camealy.com.

April 22, 2013


[serialposts]I come from a long line of food lovers, and some of my strongest memories are connected to family kitchens I remember in snap-shot snippets. It’s no surprise to me that I feel closest to God when I bake. It was only last year when I felt Him smile at me over a pan of chocolate chip cookies.

Recently when the walls caved in a bit, I sought refuge in my kitchen.

Elbow deep in flour, I plunge my hands down into the dough–fold and press, fold and press. I consider, after a few minutes, that perhaps I have over-worked this boule. Still working the dough, I wonder how it might turn out. Have I ruined it with all of this handling?

The repetitive motion of the press-and-knead feels good–rhythmic. I lose myself, watching the dough smooth and soften in my hands. I need this quiet repetition because even as there is motion, a stillness rolls across my shoulders and down my arms.  I feel the calming quiet I’ve craved and avoided all at once.

I no longer hear the buzzing of my children and the dog, I am deaf to the birds outside and the TV droning on in the background. This is Holy work here now, just me and Jesus.  I feel Him pressing me as I stand, pressing flour and yeast over onto itself, pulling, rolling, folding, repeat. Again. And Again.

The sweet scent of  yeast and sugar hangs under the tip of my nose, a cloud puff of loose flour poufs briefly as I press the dough over onto another side of the board. I watch as the dusting rises and falls silently. I store that image away.

The dough stretches and softens with each new fold and I can’t help but consider my own life–folded and pressed in the Fathers hands, proofed and risen by His grace and mercy, that I might yield something whole–something that can feed and fill.

My life’s purpose is His, and as He has pulled at me, and stretched me in recent months, I find my purpose emerging. It’s terrifying and glorious and all too miraculous really, that He can pull the ingredients of a less-than perfect life together to make something complete–that I, so full of errors and cracks, can be used at all. We can give glory, when we surrender.

It’s become our mantra here in the school room, I say to my children, “My life’s  purpose–“ and my children answer back, “is to give God glory!” And they shout it joyfully, not militant or coerced, but with utter joy because we have purpose and knowing this makes our hearts rise, even as He presses and pulls at us. Even as we endure painful seasons of doubt and fear. We are assured that through this folding, through this pressing and shaping, we indeed have purpose.

We rise in the morning, under the heat of this world, knowing that our lives are an offering, that you and I can be like manna to strangers along the journey. We can be cut open by the world, and shared through our willing sacrifice and all around the aroma of grace wafts out of the broken bread–we can feed the soul-starved of this world by sharing our broken selves.

It’s a mystery, how our mess encourages. We say “misery loves company” but it’s not because we want to bring others down but more because our wounds somehow lift others up. We are no longer alone. In our brokenness, we can still feed each other.

Christ’s own body, this Bread Of Life, breaks again and again for us and we feast on His sacrifice.

Turning the dough in my own kitchen, I see the necessity of the breaking, the bending and pressing. I see the beauty of the rising.

An hour later I return to the warmth of the stove top. Pressing my finger into the top of the dough, I see that it has risen enough, the dent left by my fingerprint signals the transition–Gods fingerprints remain on me, He knows when it’s time enough.


In April, our writers are sharing stories on the theme Rise, telling everyday tales of awakening to the mystery of the resurrection during Eastertide.  Together, we’ll celebrate and ponder the message of Christ through the lens of our unique perspectives. And we’re giving away one copy of Wonderstruck by Margaret Feinberg to a lucky person who comments – one every Monday in April. Winners will be announced every Tuesday morning here.

On Monday of next week, April 29, join us in welcoming our guest writer, Margaret Feinberg, popular Bible teacher, speaker and author, and link up your own story on the prompt Rise.  One story will be selected from the collection and featured here on Bible Dude. It could be yours.



  1. Nikki

    Yes…my recipe is simple and I struggle to believe He can make something worthy out of me. How soon I forget what His hands are capable of…
    Father, knead away.

    beautiful post, friend. Thank you.

    • Kris Camealy

      Thanks for reading, Nikki. I am so grateful to have friends like you along for the moulding. 😉

  2. Elizabeth Stewart

    Beautiful words, Kris!

    • Kris Camealy

      Thank you, Elizabeth, so blessed that you’d read and take the time to encourage.

  3. Amy Hunt

    I absolutely loved this, Kris! So beautiful. Rich worship poured out here. Truly joy spilling over in your counting of His gifts, as hard-thanks as they are to count.

    • Kris Camealy

      Thanks, Amy. I appreciate your kindness, your friendship, iron sharpening iron, eh? 😉

  4. SimplyDarlene

    Like your image, isn’t what He does? Makes us hungry for more.


    • Kris Camealy

      Yes, Darlene, always hungry for more. Indeed. 😉

  5. Amy L. Sullivan

    I was going to comment on your post, but I can’t stop thinking about that bread staring me down from the top of the screen…

    • Kris Camealy

      🙂 I do love good bread. This particular loaf is my first attempt at Challah, it was so good.

  6. Beth Werner Lee

    This, rising because of the yeast, lovingly kneaded by the Master, it resonated deep, all the more because I was baking just yesterday, two batches and one was tough, so we let it rise longer and then it was softer, but both came out the same in the end. Lovely parable there. To his own master the servant will stand or fall, and God is able to make us stand. (Romans 14, maybe?) praising him today, glad to read your words.

    • Kris Camealy

      Beth, so glad this spoke to you today. There is something about baking bread that brings me to Jesus’ feet. Bless you, my friend.


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lessons from the kitchen {on rising}

by KrisCamealy time to read: 4 min