I used this poem in the service this morning, exploring "Give us this day our daily bread", and reflecting on the politics of bread and the politics of prayer. There were tears in church.
I know what it’s like to use the same teabag twice
To cut the mould from the bread, to rescue a slice
I didn’t ever think I would be in such a mess
While working full-time for a living, while suffering from illness and stress
I choose to work to pay my own way
But have no spare money at the end of the day
The cupboards and fridge are empty what else can I do?
Throwing my three elderly pets on the street?- It just wouldn’t do.
I don’t have a partner for support, the children have grown and left home
No luxuries do I have that I can call my own
I do not have a plasma screen TV
No tumble drier here for me
No plush leather sofa or latest mobile phone, no holiday do I take or house do I own
So swallow my pride I know I must do
So I visited the foodbank who welcomed me within
As I wiped the tears from my face rolling down my chin,
Foodbank volunteers greeted me with a smile, sat me down with a cup of tea
I began to chat and told of my dismay
At finding myself at the foodbank today
Not a penny in my purse that I could offer to pay
“What more could I say?”
“It’s alright”, the lady said as I was handed a tissue
Don’t look at being here as such an issue
So privileged and grateful I felt as I was provided with food- as if heaven sent
To have food on the table this cold winter’s day
Is very much appreciated I’m humbled to say
Foodbank, I thank you for helping me today
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