Devi Duerrmeier
Devi Duerrmeier
Devi Duerrmeier is a writer, thinker, photographer, wife and mother. She writes about food, family and faith at the table at her blog My Daily Bread& Butter while she mothers two boys, cooks simple food and writes vulnerable words from an open, purple kitchen in Melbourne, Australia. After a lifetime of moving, from Sri Lanka to the Philippines to Arkansas to Australia to Switzerland to Sweden and then back to Australia, she is putting away the boxes for a while in favour of a life in one place. You can connect with her on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.
9 posts
Hospitality with Small Kids Is Worth It

Hospitality was so serious to my husband and I, it was part of our wedding vows. I commit my heart and my life to welcoming people into our home. Our small apartment in Geneva, Switzerland was home to many gatherings in those first years of newlywed life. There was no dishwasher in the kitchen, and we had a small, four-burner stove and oven with a broken thermometer. But those things...

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What Worked In 2017

Wherever you live and whatever your political persuasions may be, I think we can all agree that our world held its moments of profound sadness in 2017. I have no great ideas for how big things can shift and change, but I leave 2017 convinced that we all have work to do in our communities and neighborhoods. We have people to love, we have walls that need to be rebuilt...

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Trusting in the Work of Time

The woods are wild in the late German summer. Grass inches toward the road, creeps over the pavement, reaching for the concrete. Trees grow into each other from opposites sides of the road. Shades of green are everywhere. Deep, dark fir, jade vines, brighter chartreuse on bushes, celery-colored leaves. It looks overrun, like the gardener took a vacation and didn't have anyone to cut back the growth while he was...

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Finding Home and Love in Spaghetti Bolognese

There are stories we tell over and over because we never want to forget. This is one of them.  Eight years ago I wandered around the streets of Geneva, Switzerland in February. My coat was good for an Australian winter, but I froze in the northern hemisphere's chilly days. I was only there for two weeks as part of a year when I traveled around the world. I started in...

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How to Be a Safe Place for Single People

I was going to write an essay for June about singleness. In my head its title was “What I would tell my single self,” a list of advice and anecdotes, thoughts on friendship, living a good life, staying present and doing the next thing. I asked a question on my Facebook page in preparation for writing this essay: “Single friends, what’s the most annoying/offensive thing married [people] say to you?” ...

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When Hospitality is a Safe Place for the Waiting

When I was four-years-old, my family moved to a large house on a dirt road in a small province in the Philippines.  The leaves of mango trees were glossy green, and coconut trees reached their branches for the clouds. On the hot days of the dry season, we felt the sweat trickle down our necks as we sat in front of electric fans. Wet season brought with it daily rain...

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The Ministry of Sugar

He’s woken up from the afternoon nap and walked down the stairs. I’m in the kitchen with a tray of freshly-baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. The air in our kitchen is warm, the scent of melting dark brown sugar and cinnamon laces the air. He sits down at the red table and starts to eat. “May I have some more?” he asks.   And I can see the sparkle in...

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Fish, Bread and the Hospitality of God

I went to a small faith-based liberal arts college in Northwest Arkansas. We had to take 12 credit hours of Bible classes, and I don't remember much from them save this one moment from New Testament survey. The classroom was a large rectangular room with no windows, seats and desks in rows, blank, vanilla walls, and a fancy, electronic overhead projector (because 14 years ago). But our professor was an...

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Learning To Live With Limitations

It was a tall wooden house, two levels high, painted yellow with white trim around the windows. It stood on the corner of two streets with a huge backyard that stretched out behind it, an apple tree with branches that stretched up and flopped over on the sides from the weight of the fruit. We called it The Yellow House, and it was our home in Stockholm, Sweden for two...

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