Sourdough for the Soul

Before the transformation!!

*This post will contain more serious topics that are possibly stressful to read. Spiritual themes also explored.

I realize that the home baking of sourdough bread has exploded during the last few years. And yes I have jumped on that bread bandwagon. Although I have always loved the taste and texture of a good hearty, thick bread, especially while it is warm; and slathered in butter- I did not think it was something I could recreate at home. Even while the trend was gaining momentum I knew ladies who were making it successfully and still assumed I would not be a good enough baker to do it. Which is crazy because I consider myself to be a solid baker and love a challenge, but bread was on another level in my mind. I did not muster the guts to attempt this creation until a coworker brought her jar of sourdough starter to work to feed during the work day. Curiously, I asked her a lot of questions and she sent me home with a little bit of the starter for my own and laminated instructions on making the bread from start to finish!! It took some time to nurture and babysit that starter, and finally making the dough and baking the bread....well the first try was bread but not great. I had to go through the process several times before my baked loaf was worthy of being called sourdough! And each process takes several days and finite steps before your dough is ready to be baked again. I also had to tweak the recipe I was given to work with my tiny propane oven and cooler home temperatures. But getting a successful loaf out of the oven, what a rush!! The smell of freshly baked bread, the site of brownish crusty goodness and the sound of the crackle when you slice into it, satisfaction and pride. From that same starter I was able to make bread for a couple of months until I accidentally killed the starter in the hot and humid august environment. After that I just gave up, I thought no way can I grow my own starter and begin anew.....I had lost my bread mojo.

Finally after months of being lame and self doubting- I consulted a bread book sent to me by a friend and got the gumption to begin my starter from scratch. It took a couple of weeks to fully activate with it being colder outside but... success! It felt so good to have that back in my life and fresh bread baked bread on my table. When I work with the sourdough, the bucket of slimy bubbly starter mix, the dough that has to be kneaded and folded several times, the banneton filled with your almost ready to bake ball of dough that needs to rest and grow, and the precise oven temperature and cast iron pot that results in the best possible loaf- I cannot help but to think of the time in my life that I had to start over, to rest and to grow and to be put through the fire. This is a story I have been actively hesitant to share. God has nudged me over the years to set it free, and I keep telling him....."I don't think that's necessary." Well last week I joined a bible study for women at my church focused on the advent season. During the course of the time with these women I heard incredible stories of praise and pain- without fear of vulnerability. One story in particular really cut right through me, a story of survival against all odds. And what I heard in that moment was "tell your story, if she can without abandon so can you. :" 9 days later, here I am. Finally giving in to God and writing my story. I feel like He will not stop nudging me until I do so. This blog was intended for a lighthearted and fun escape to discuss baking and encourage other women, this blog post is no different which is why I decided to share my story here.

More than eight years ago I birthed my third and final child. Since then I have referred to the experience as my best and worst birth story. The care I received was just outstanding and the women involved in nursing me will never leave my heart. But physically, emotionally and spiritually this birth literally broke me. After three days of laboring in the hospital it was decided that a cesarean would be the safest birth option for my son. The mood in the operating room was pretty special. My nurse played my favorite song during his birth and looked up baby names for me as we had not yet decided on one. Her distractions were so welcome and comforting as I was terrified of another surgery. But all went pretty routinely and I met my healthy boy just after midnight. Shortly after I was taken to recovery and handed my tiny baby to nurse for the first time. He was so beautiful and small, it felt so good to hold him, but that moment crashed quickly.

He was removed from my arms as I began to hemorrhage. The site of the medical team rushing in to perform lifesaving measures and a glimpse of my husband just beyond the curtain surrounding my bed is all I can remember. My body fell completely limp as the medical team of at least four people were frantically giving orders to each other and doing all that they could to my body to stop the blood loss. These lifesaving measures should have caused great pain and distress but I felt none of it. In those moments, and I cannot tell how many moments there were- it felt like eternity and a flash of time all in the same, I was at heaven's door.

My lifeless and bleeding body could be seen below me, I was looking down on myself in real time. I had no fear or sadness, just wonder. I knew that my body was in peril but I could see and feel a warm, yellow bright light in front of me. It felt like home, as if this was the place I truly belonged and that my home on Earth was just a passing moment. That feeling was just pure love and acceptance, belonging and purpose- something on this Earth that we try too hard to find but rarely do. In this place of light and love I knew that I had a choice, I could stay forever or I could remain in my earthly body. Let me say that the pull to stay, in that warm and perfect place of heaven- because it was the gates of heaven, was so strong that leaving it behind to remain on this Earth was a battle. But one I had to fight, for my new baby, my other two children, my husband and family. I told God, no I cannot stay my family needs me and He agreed. So I my soul returned to my broken and frail body. Although the passing of time was not something I could discern, at some point they stabilized my condition and I was left unconscious but under supervision. When I awoke the next morning my first concern was who has my baby!!? He was safe and sound with a nurse nearby.

Several more days were spent in the hospital, I received a blood transfusion and looked as white as flour for days! They recommended I receive two units of blood but I felt guilty taking more than one, how crazy is that? I was busy attempting to appear healthy and capable for my baby and my family, my mind could not even bear the weight of the fact that I had just escaped the clutch of death. Confessing this experience to anyone took some time- I do not do well with vulnerability. Because that is what I felt- oh I almost died, how weak am I? The wonder and amazement of glimpsing heaven, communing with God and feeling the ultimate peace was something that I kept in my heart, feeling a longing for that eternal home. Maybe I should have been shouting my story from the beginning, after all people are always fascinated by near death experiences! But this felt too personal, too sacred and too transparent to share. Now I realize, sharing it is not about me. I did not earn the chance to stay on this earth to raise my family and to live for God. He allowed me to choose it, and agreed that my children needed their mother. What an honor! You would think a soul that's just seen the other side, that's felt the awesome wonder of heaven and God's presence would be on fire for life.....but guilt, fear and doubt settled in the years after that birth.

Recovering from this birth was very long and extremely difficult. I experienced post partum depression, post traumatic stress syndrome, survivor's guilt and detachment from my life. I realized I needed help and sought therapy and medical guidance. I wrestled a bit with God asking, "why did you keep me here, what is my purpose, I don't do enough for you, I am not good enough." Years went by before I felt any strength from this experience and the second chance I was given. Finally, I became brave enough to go after goals in the life that God was leading me toward. Although it did not come without pain or grief it did come with success and blessings. Still I wrestle with the true purpose of my glimpse of heaven, the pain I endured in my son's birth and the guilt I felt from survival. Maybe, just telling the story, for if one person reads it and feels a whisper from God in their heart- that's enough.

After going through my own near death experience naturally I have been curious about other's stories. While there are many similarities, often the person going through this experience had their spiritual beliefs turned around and began a life for God only after. Well I have considered myself a sold out Christian since I was five years old, meaning nothing has ever or will ever persuade me that God and His gospel are not the truth. So I did not need that proof, that God is with us, that heaven is real, that we indeed have a soul....so what was the purpose of God allowing me to speak with Him and see a tiny portion of heaven? I may not know His intended purpose until I meet Him again. Sharing this incredible journey- to the gates of heaven and back is just one way I want to honor Him.

Heaven is no longer a place of mystery and confusion for me. It used to be an overwhelming thought, what are we going to do for all of eternity?? That doesn't matter to me anymore, it is our true home and one that I will be delighted to enter when God is ready for me to walk through those gates. The site and reality that I was permitted to witness before the final end of my life is exactly what the Bible describes. "The city had no need of the sun or the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light." Revelations 21:23 It is a light that cannot be recreated here on this Earth, nor do proper words exist to fully paint the picture of it. A perfect summer sunset over calm waters is the best I can do for frail comparison. But this I know, God made me from nothing- into something that He is growing, resting and yes sometimes putting through the fire. No doubt He feels the same pride and wonder when He sees me.... us, as I do when I pull out that freshly baked loaf of sourdough! Is it a leap to liken a loaf of bread to a human life....yes. But in the power given to us to create things on this Earth, whether it is food or art or another human life- echoes the spirit of creation from the beginning of time. Finding these divine moments in the mundane and daily tasks of our lives, points our eyes up to the light again. Where we truly belong. May the wonder of baking a simple loaf of sourdough never lose its power for me, or for you.