How the Lord Used Sourdough to Teach Me to Slow Down

I grew up in the city, so moving to a small country town in South Carolina was a completely different way of life for me. Things were quieter and slower than what I was used to, and over time, I began to really appreciate that.

But when I think about where my love for food and gathering around the table came from, I have to go much further back.

Growing up, I was always amazed by the way my mom and dad cooked for my brothers and me. It didn't matter what they were making. They put so much love into feeding us that even the simplest meal felt special.

And we ate together.

We sat around the table, talked about our day, laughed, and spent time together as a family. I didn't know to call any of that hospitality back then. I just knew there was something special about sitting down together and sharing a meal.

Years later, I found sourdough.

What started as simply learning how to make bread eventually became Little Dough Corner, my small sourdough cottage bakery. Before I knew it, my kitchen was filled with flour-covered counters, bowls of dough, starter jars, bannetons, and the smell of bread baking in the oven.

And if you've ever made sourdough, you know there is a lot of waiting involved.

You can have a schedule and a plan, but you still have to give the dough time. You can't rush fermentation just because you're ready for the next step.

I think that's one of the reasons the Lord has used sourdough so much in my own life.

I like having a plan. I like knowing what's coming next, and I especially like knowing how things are going to work out. But there have been seasons when the Lord simply hasn't given me those answers.

Instead, He has continued to teach me to seek Him, rest in Him, and trust Him.

I don't have to know what He's doing next to trust that He is good. I don't have to constantly be working, planning, or trying to make something happen. I can be faithful with what's in front of me and trust Him with the rest.

Somewhere in the middle of learning that, Selah became especially meaningful to me.

Selah is a word found throughout the Psalms. While its exact meaning is uncertain, it has often been associated with a pause or interlude. I loved that picture because it reminded me so much of what the Lord was already teaching me: to slow down, seek Him, and remember where my rest is found.

So when it came time to name my sourdough starter, Selah was vert fitting.

And in so many ways, all of this has brought me back to the table.

Back to those meals my mom and dad made when I was growing up. Back to sitting around the table with my brothers. Back to realizing that what made those meals special wasn't that everything was perfect. It was that we were together.

That's the kind of hospitality I want to practice in my own life.

I think it's easy to look at hospitality and feel like we need to do more before we're ready to invite someone in. Maybe the house needs to be cleaner. Maybe we need to plan a better meal. Maybe we need the right dishes or a beautifully set table.

But I'm learning that we can welcome people right in the middle of ordinary life.

Hospitality can be a loaf of bread sitting on the counter and coffee poured into whatever mugs are clean. It can be cutting the loaf you already made in half and taking the other half to someone you love. It can be pulling something homemade from the freezer because a friend stopped by.

Sometimes hospitality is simply being able to say, “Come over. I have enough.”

That's the heart behind From Scratch Hospitality.

I want this to feel a little like pulling up a chair in my kitchen. A place where I can share sourdough, simple recipes, practical ways to love people well, and what the Lord is teaching me along the way.

There may be flour on the counter. There may be dishes in the sink. The meal may not be impressive.

There is still room at the table.

My prayer is that we learn to use the ordinary things the Lord has already placed in our hands to love and serve the people He places around us.

Not perfectly. Not elaborately. Just faithfully.

So come on in. There's room at the table.

Bake the bread. Set the table. Linger a little longer. 🤎