Feeding the Five Thousand

My mother
always made me food
to take with me.
‘You should always be prepared,’
she said.
And I have to admit
there were many times
I had been glad
of the food
she provided.
She knew, you see,
that I liked to wander off
into the hills
and I was always late home.
There were always so many
interesting things to do and see
in the hills.
When one or other of my friends
joined me
we would enjoy a picnic
together.
That was another of my
mother’s many sayings,
‘You should always
share
what you have.’
I didn’t mind sharing with
my friends but there were
limits.
No way were those older boys
going to get any.
They used to stand around
in groups
and laugh at me
as I passed with my
bread and fish.
‘They’re only jealous,’
my mother said.
‘Ignore them!’
I tried.
But it was hard sometimes.
Sometimes they tried
to take my food from me.
Sometimes they succeeded.
I never told my mother that.


It was a lovely sunny day.
I hadn’t anything to do
so I’d taken myself off
to the hills
with my bread and fish.
I was alone.
My friends had gone fishing.
As I sat
on the grass
deciding what to do next
I saw crowds
of people
making their way towards me.
I stood up
ready to run
but as they got nearer
I recognised one of them.
It was Jesus.
I’d seen him before
in the town.
And I’d heard people
talking about him,
including my mother.
‘I bet she wishes she were here now’,
I thought,
as I watched them getting nearer and nearer.
I didn’t move.
I don’t think I could have, actually,
but just as the leading group
reached me
they all stopped.
When Jesus began to speak
I was hooked.
I didn’t understand a lot of what he said,
but his voice…
And the things he did!
He healed people,
actually healed them,
right in front of me –
well almost in front.

Before I realised it,
it was evening.
Jesus had stopped speaking
and healing
and I suddenly realised
I was hungry.
‘Good old mum,’ I thought.
‘She’s done it again.’
As I started
to unpack my little bag
I heard Jesus talking
with his friends
about what they were going
to eat.
‘They should have a mum like mine.’
I thought.
‘I must tell her when I get home.’
But then
a nasty thought struck me.
‘She’ll ask me if
I shared
the food!’
At that precise moment
one of Jesus’ friends
came up to me and asked me
if I had any food
to spare.
I showed him.
For a split second
I thought of taking out
one of the loaves
and keeping it for myself
but it was too late.
He was taking me with him
to Jesus.
Everything else became a blur.
All I could see was Jesus.
Jesus, looking at me
and smiling.
He held out
his hands
and I gave him
the five loaves and the fishes,
freely,
willingly.
I would have given him
anything,
everything…
I just hoped that he didn’t know
about my idea of keeping a loaf back.
I wanted him to know
I was sorry.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
He knew.
I knew he knew.
But I also knew
that he forgave me,
that it was forgotten
and I felt
so relieved,
so good,
so happy.
I wanted that moment
to last
forever.
But it didn’t.

Jesus took the bread.
He gave thanks and
he gave it to the people,
Yes the people,
all the people, not just some of them,
and to me.
I don’t know how
he did it
but we all had
enough.
Well I had more than enough actually
but I’m not telling mum that.
In fact
I don’t know
what I am telling mum.
She just won’t believe it
if I tell her
how many people
shared her food.
I wish she’d been here.
I wish she could meet
Jesus.
Then she would believe.


© Kathleen Wilks