The Hole Lesson: What Sourdough Bagels Taught Me About Trust

When Faith Becomes Part of the Story

Over the past few weeks I have noticed something interesting.

Some people are deeply moved when I talk about faith in my writing. Others feel uncomfortable or even triggered by it. I understand that. Each of us walks our own path in life. Our beliefs, experiences, and understanding of God or a higher power are shaped by very different journeys.

For me, faith is simply part of the story. It is how I make sense of the twists and turns that have shaped my life. It is how I interpret the quiet moments of guidance that appear when I least expect them.

But I also understand that everyone’s path looks different, and that is perfectly okay. What matters most is that we treat each other with kindness and respect as we walk those paths.

Last week I experienced another small reminder of how faith and baking continue to intertwine in my life.

A customer asked if I could make sourdough bagels.

Now if I am being honest, bagels intimidate me.

They are still sourdough, but the process is completely different from baking a loaf of bread. A boule rests quietly in a banneton and then goes straight into the oven. Bagels demand more attention, more steps, and more precision.

When I first read the request, my immediate thought was that familiar voice of doubt.

Can I really do this?

But almost as quickly, another thought followed.

Maybe this is another nudge.

A quiet whisper that said, challenge yourself, Kathy. Trust the process. Trust Me.

So I said yes.

The process of making sourdough bagels begins much the same way as bread. Flour, water, salt, and starter come together to form the dough. After mixing, the dough ferments slowly, allowing the wild yeast to begin its work. Fermentation builds flavor and strength, the same way time builds depth in our own lives.

Once the dough has rested and developed structure, it is divided and shaped into rings. Each piece is rolled gently and carefully, forming the familiar circle that gives a bagel its character.

Then comes the cold proof.

The shaped bagels are placed in the refrigerator and left to rest overnight. This slow fermentation deepens the flavor and strengthens the dough. Patience is part of the process.

The next morning the bagels are brought back to room temperature. The yeast wakes up again, preparing the dough for the final stages.

Unlike bread, bagels are not baked immediately.

They are boiled.

Each ring of dough is gently lowered into simmering water for a short time. This step sets the crust and creates the chewy texture bagels are known for. Once they emerge from the water, they are rolled in toppings. Sesame seeds, poppy seeds, everything seasoning, or simply left plain.

Only then are they ready for the oven.

In many ways the process mirrors life itself. Some things require extra steps. Some challenges take more patience. Some lessons require us to slow down and trust what we cannot yet see.

As I worked through each stage of those bagels, I realized that the lesson was not really about mastering a new recipe.

It was about trust.

Trusting that I could learn something new. Trusting that the process would work if I followed it with care. Trusting that the quiet nudges I sometimes feel are guiding me toward growth.

That is what faith often looks like in my life.

Not certainty.

Just the willingness to say yes and take the next step.

And just like sourdough itself, the best things seem to rise when we give them time.

As I placed the bagels in the oven this morning, I realized something else. Baking has become more than a craft for me. It has become another way of understanding life itself. The dough teaches patience. Fermentation teaches trust. And the quiet rhythm of the kitchen often reveals lessons I might have missed if I were moving too fast.

Those lessons are part of the reason I write about this journey at all.

Why I Share

I have been thinking a lot about why I write the way I do.

Why I share pieces of my story. Why I speak openly about recovery, grief, faith, and the slow rebuilding of a life.

The truth is, it comes from my years in the rooms of sobriety.

If you have ever sat in those rooms, you know the rhythm. People sit in a circle and share their stories. Sometimes the stories are messy. Sometimes they are painful. Sometimes they are filled with quiet victories that might seem small to the outside world but feel enormous to the person speaking.

No one shares because their life is perfect.

They share because someone else in that room might need to hear it.

When I first began listening to others tell their stories of recovery, something shifted inside me. I realized that honesty has a strange kind of power. When one person speaks truthfully about their struggles, it gives another person permission to breathe a little easier. To believe that maybe they are not the only one carrying something heavy.

Over time I learned that sharing is not about drawing attention to yourself.

It is about extending a hand.

My journey has included sobriety,  but it has also included learning how to live with grief, loss, and the rebuilding of a life I never expected to rebuild. Those experiences shaped me. They softened me. They taught me to listen more closely to other people’s pain.

So when I write about sourdough, faith, fear, or healing, I am not trying to present myself as someone who has everything figured out.

I am simply doing what I learned to do in those rooms.

Tell the truth about the journey.

Because somewhere out there, someone might read it and recognize a piece of their own story.

And sometimes that recognition is the first small step toward hope.

Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crumb