The Breaking Bread

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‘God works in mysterious ways’ is a common saying. And don’t I know it!

Earlier this year, I was asked to have a go at writing a poem about the plight of Nigerian widows. This totally baffled me as I’d never even been to the country and knew very little about it.

Having researched and also read a number of women’s stories, I attempted to fulfill that ask. The following poem is the result.

The incredible thing is that God has just brought me back from a visit to that beautiful, hurting country and I was able to share my poem with Jocelyn (below left with Sasa) who runs a ministry with 43 of the country’s many widows.

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She and her team do an amazing work, creating beautiful colourful pieces in a community of love and acceptance. Many of these women have been widowed due to the ongoing conflicts within the country and this poem attempts to reflects their pain.

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To me they are as Christ. They have suffered and have been broken..the breaking bread. Yet his brokenness was to bring them healing and restoration.

  “… that the Lord Jesus on the same night in which He was betrayed took bread; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said,

“Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” ” (1 Cor. 11:24)

The Breaking Bread:

My little one cries, amidst the mob of runaways.

We have left everything behind in a bid to save the most precious things.

Yet we have lost

Such great cost

to escape the enemy’s wrath.

They come with fire and holler obscenities

They throw a flame, a light, a punch, a name

They shoot with arrows, with guns

They make us fear, they make us run.

They took our confidence, our home, our joy

They took our girls, they took our boys.

They took my husband. I saw him fall

Right in front of our kitchen wall.

They took him away yet left him there

They took him away with tasteless air.

They are not alone in their abandonment,

Others have joined in what it has meant

To be rejected

His family too have turned their backs

They want the house, but not my lack.

They want to benefit but not to meet the need that’s left…

Me. Them. Us. You.

We’re on the move. On the run.

Helplessly running from the gun and fire.

We are in dire straights.

We are without. We are wounded.

Dead on our feet.

It goes so deep.

We are ready to break.

We are the breaking bread.

 

©E. Henry, 2018.

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