Posted on July 13, 2009 - by Drew
A Piece of Cake
TEAR Fund is deeply indebted to volunteers who carry out a number of important tasks in our Supporter Relations Department. Anne is one of our most loyal and loved volunteers. She has a keen mind, a great sense of humour and is over 80 years old.
Every Monday morning we have devotions led by one of the TEAR Fund team. This morning it was Anne’s turn and she read us a true story she had written about a small incident which had a profound effect on her understanding of social justice. Here’s the story.
A Piece of Cake
Jan joined the other women in the kitchen of the community hall. They were a small band of helpers who came every Friday, in the late afternoon, to help with a simple, hour long outreach programme consisting of a bible story and song singing, followed by food.
The hall was in an area known as one of the trouble spots of the city, where poverty and crime were rife. The women had brought with them the usual simple meal of cheese and marmite sandwiches and plain buttered scones. They were busy placing these on plates to transfer them to the large table near the kitchen.
Enough hands in the kitchen, Jan moved to the other end of the hall where the men were setting out chairs and other equipment. Finally all was ready to receive the twenty five or so children who would soon come trickling through the door. Most had been before, but a few would be newcomers, drawn in by the helpers outside with their offer of Christian entertainment and undoubtedly the enticement of something to eat.
Two young, shyly smiling brown faces peeped round the door, Mane bringing her little friend for the first time and heralding the arrival of the children. They straggled in, their ages ranging from five years old to preteens. It would be presumptuous to suppose that they were all unloved, uncared for or maltreated, but there were those who certainly bore evidence that they came from the lowest socio economic group in our society. Jan watched them, noting that, as always, their eyes first swiveled towards the laden table at the far end of the room, but today, their gaze seemed to remain fixed longer than usual.
Jan seated the lively bunch of youngsters in their chairs. The Pastor briefly prayed and with guitar led into a catchy song. The children loved the singing, their pure young voices rising to the ceiling with loud enthusiasm, hands clapping as they began to respond to the rhythm and boisterously shouted for their favourite songs. The story of David and Goliath followed, another much loved choice but this time there was no riveted attention, but eyes drawn as by a magnet to the other end of the hall.
A closing prayer was the signal for a stampede of bare feet towards the table and Jan hurried ahead to join the other helpers as they held back the surge long enough for a quick grace to be said. Only then did she understand why the children had been so preoccupied with this end of the hall. There, for the first time, in the centre of the usual, more humble offerings was the richest most delicious, large round chocolate cake, irresistibly tempting, resplendent with its thick topping of chocolate icing, liberally sprinkled with hundreds of thousands and silver nonpareils.
Grace said, the table immediately disappeared under jostling bodies and clutching hands as each child grabbed a share of the meal. There were no social graces here. In no time at all the plates were bare and the children, with their hands laden, now at the other end of the room – except for the sorriest little scrap of humanity that Jan had ever seen.
About five years old, bare feet and chicken thin legs disappearing into overlarge, hand-me-down trousers, a loose fitting t-shirt his only other clothing. The cord tied round his waist to hold up his trousers required the continual assistance of one of his hands. Add to this a mop of curly dark hair and a small round face, distorted by screwed up huge brown eyes, from which flowed a veritable flood of tears. His small frame shook with the violence of his loud sobs. The child was in an extremity of emotion.
Jan, kneeling, drew him to her and tried unsuccessfully to discover the cause of his distress. The more she tried the louder the sobs, and the more anxious she became that something serious had happened to him until finally he was able to gasp, “I didn’t get a piece of cake.” Indeed what chance had he given the double handicap of being so small and having only one free hand with which to grab for his share.
Jan led the still sobbing child to the kitchen with slim expectation of there being some food remaining. To her surprise on the bench was the smallest packet of potato crisps.
She offered them to the unhappy little waif. He took the package with lukewarm enthusiasm. It was no substitute for a piece of chocolate cake.
As we reflected on Anne’s story, we who have such a large and unfair share of life’s cake, she completed the devotions with an ancient Celtic prayer.
God kindle thou in my heart within
A flame of love to my neighbour,
To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,
To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall,
From the lowest thing that liveth,
To the Name that is highest of all,
God, kindle thou in my heart within
A flame of love.
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