You saw me through countless pies, cookies, and cakes,
Dutch babies, pizzas, and you broiled my steaks.
I remember the muffins and scones you would hold,
The salmon, and halibut, rock fish and sole.
There were countless pans of varieties of breads,
Now I look on wistfully to think that your dead.
Your lifeless and inanimate, you haven't a soul,
But my enemy knows how to find a weak chink or hole.
He thinks I will crumble, get angry and break.
But my God says "I'm the bread... the kind you don't bake."
So with confident hope and expectance with joy,
I look back at you now and see just a toy.
Things come and they go, they break and they fry.
But Jesus my savior was sent here to die.
He gave up his own life, so that I would be free.
Now the things in my life, they don't define me.
A new oven some day indeed would be great!
But it doesn't define our dinner time fate.
A Kenmore, A Whirlpool, a Maytag, we'll see.
But for now I'm content for God's bread to feed me.