The registrar’s office over at the college has undertaken quite the project recently. With the assistance of an external organization, they are digitizing student records from the past few millennia. Currently, these are stored in their original folders, created shortly after the advent of manila paper and kept in a few hundred filing cabinets in the basement of our Administration Building. It is the task of the registrar’s office to cull through the files, remove any non-critical records and prepare new copies of anything on facsimile paper, anything with anything on it that could foul up an automated paper feeder and anything on something other than an 8-1/2 by 11 inch piece of paper. In other words, if the Lord tarries, they will finish this project by the time our elected officials begin to put the good of common people above their own re-election.
Randa has been working late a few evenings each week in order to help out. Alphabetically speaking, they have just begun the “D’s.” Even when you factor in my tilt toward hyperbole, it’s going to take a while. I’m doing my part to help out, sort of, in a very non-direct manner.
I’ve been cooking cornbread.
Funny thing about hot bread in the oven when you open the back door on a cool, rainy evening after a long day at the office (or anywhere else): that aroma alone can make you think that there is good left in the world and that you might even get a piece of it. Fresh bread makes any leftover seem like a much better meal. Fresh bread, especially with a pat of melted butter, makes everything else on the table seem like the perfect complement. Its aroma and texture assure you that the flavor will be delicious, a wonderful experience. It brings you to the table, full of expectation and confidence.
In that regard, at least, fresh bread is not a bad representation of the effect that hope has on the heart.