Just try it. Be sure to break the bread.

She walked back toward the people with her basket and loaf, filled with embarrassment for having raised her basket with expectation of...something. Anything. She had seen the others come, receive their baskets, raise them to the heavens, and repeat the teacher's words. And she had believed something had happened in their baskets. She hadn't really noticed if their baskets had been full or empty, but when she raised her basket, she had braced against the weight that didn't magically appear. She had braced against the weight of hope. Maybe this time she would be in the right place at the right time to see the story unfold. Maybe this time she would be part of the new thing happening around her instead of hearing about it around the well. So, when the teacher had asked for help, she had made her way to the center of the crowd. 

But that's the thing about hope; it so quickly turns to shame. Hope opens you up. It reveals that you still believe that there is something loving and lovely about the world. The little sputter of hope that brought her feet to the edge of the field that day had been nurtured into a symphony by the words that the teacher had spoken. Words about there being something strangely alive about the being in the world. Something deeply real. Something more than rule keeping and duty fulfilling. His voice was gentle yet she could hear him clearly as she settled at the edge of the gathered crowd. He spoke about how to live life together well. He taught about living beyond what law and tradition required. He talked about living love. 

When the words stopped, he had called for help and she had risen, slowly, to her feet. At home she felt lost, unwanted, and small, but here, with this teacher, she felt hope. She felt welcome to try. As she waited in line for her basket, her insides roiled with expectation. What happens when hope is fulfilled? What would that feeling be like? She reached for her basket unsure of what would happen, but, irrationally, sure something would.

But the basket, raised above her head, didn't grow immensely...anything. Just nothing. Just a basket, a loaf of bread, a smile, and nine words.  

Just try it. Be sure to break the bread.

She should have known better than to hope. Hoping wasn't for people like her. People like her knew that hopes fulfilled belonged to other people: beautiful people, wealthy people, powerful people, easy people. She wasn't easy. Her life had been littered with not-easy—some of her own devising, some not, but it was grotesquely clear that her life was out of reach of hope. Now she stood, facing a hungry crowd, her arms holding a cavernous basket un-filled with a single loaf of bread. 

Suddenly, hilariously, her stomach growled.