Saying Goodbye to Portugal:
Fresh Bread for Thursday Dinners

I am going to miss Thursday nights, when my buzzer starts humming at 18:50 with teenagers hungry for dinner. Tonight at 18:25, I realized I needed some nice bread with the stroganoff, so I ran downstairs to the Panisol cafe and breadshop on the first floor. It’s a Portuguese holiday (again) today, so they were all out of bread, except for 13 fresh rolls. I bought them all, and the nice bread lady laughed, “uma festa, nao e?” (A party, eh?). And I agreed. And then I burst into those happy-but-sad tears as I walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Yes, it was a party. Tonight was the last dinner at my house with these teenager friends who’ve become like family over the last three years. We’d cram around the table, share our stories over hot meals, and then saunter into the living room with coffees and teas to sing to God as honestly as we could. And then we’d open our Bibles to ask how to walk like Jesus did. We learned what it meant to be a family, and how to feast on the fresh bread words of God.