Weighing Flour: “Balanced in Christ

Weighing Flour: “Balanced in Christ”

The digital scale beeped softly as I adjusted the bowl, watching the numbers fluctuate: 247... 248... 249... There. Exactly 250 grams. I smiled, remembering how my grandmother never needed a scale-her weathered hands could measure flour by touch alone. But precision matters to me now, perhaps more than it should.

Ten years ago, precision meant survival. In the refugee camps outside Aleppo, Daniel says every gram of rice counted. Too little, and families went hungry. Too much to one family meant another child would cry themselves to sleep with an empty belly. The responsibility felt crushing, holding scales that measured not just food but hope itself.

I remember Amara, a seven-year-old girl with eyes too old for her face. She'd watch me distribute rations, studying my every move. One day, she tugged at my sleeve and whispered, "Mister, in the very middle eastern tone, 😊why do you always check twice?" Her mother had been shortchanged by other workers before-men who skimmed supplies for profit or played favourites based on politics.

"Because everyone deserves what's fair," I told her, kneeling down on the gravelled floor to her level. But even then, the weight of that promise felt heavier than the sacks of grain I carried.

Some nights, I'd lie awake questioning every decision. Had I been truly just? Did my own biases creep in? The camp director often pushed us to "move faster, worry less about perfection." But I'd seen what happened when aid workers stopped caring about accuracy. Corruption flourished. Trust died. People suffered…. alas!! Heartbreaking, isn’t it? And for Daniel a born again, I guess that mattered most to him.

Now, in my quiet kitchen, flour dust dancing in morning sunlight, I find myself thinking of Amara again. She'd be seventeen now- probably baking bread of her own somewhere, I hope. I think I hope too much from hope, mumbled Daniel in his kitchen. The measuring ritual has become my prayer time, a moment to reflect on the delicate balance Christ calls us to maintain.

"A false balance is an abomination to the Lord, but a just weight is his delight" (Proverbs 11:1). The ancient wisdom echoes through my modern kitchen. Solomon knew that integrity isn't just about honest business dealings, it's about the careful, deliberate way we live each day.

Jesus embodied this perfect balance throughout His ministry. When the Pharisees brought the adulterous woman before Him, He didn't tip toward harsh judgment or careless mercy. Instead, He spoke truth wrapped in grace: "Neither do I condemn you; go, and sin no more" (John 8:11). Justice and compassion perfectly measured.

In my work, I'd witnessed leaders who lost this balance-some hardened by trauma into cruel efficiency, others so overwhelmed by need they gave recklessly, creating chaos. But Christ's way requires both tender hearts and steady hands.

As I fold the flour into butter and eggs, I pray for that same divine equilibrium in my daily choices. When my teenager pushes boundaries, help me balance correction with understanding. When colleagues cut corners, let me maintain standards without self-righteousness. When old wounds resurface from my aid workdays, steady me between acknowledgment and healing.

The dough comes together perfectly-not too dry, not too sticky. Exactly right. Like the life Christ invites us into a space measured by His love, balanced by His truth, and kneaded gently by His grace.

The Wayfarer's Reflections:

Lord, as flour needs careful measuring to become bread, my life needs Your steady hand to find its proper shape. Help me weigh my words with kindness, my actions with justice, and my heart with Your perfect love. Make me a person others can trust-not because I'm flawless, but because You keep me centred in Your grace, seeking what's right over what's easy.