They met constantly to hear the apostles teach, and to share
the common life, to break bread and to pray. Acts 2:46 NEB
My husband’s funeral was on December 31, 1999, so on New
Year’s Day I started the new Millennium as a brand-new widow. Those of you who have lost a spouse know that
being alone after a long marriage means not only grieving but making both big
and small changes in your lifestyle.
One of those small changes for me was learning to eat
alone. The evening meal was a real
challenge for me. After two or three
weeks, I realized that if I was going to continue to bake my homemade bread,
that both Gary and I loved, I’d have to share half a loaf with someone. A 2-lb. loaf was too big a loaf for me. The first week I found I’d failed to put half
the loaf in the freezer. Without
preservatives mold began to form. The
next week I put half in the freezer but found I preferred the fresh baked
loaf. The third week, I called my
friend, Beryl, who was also a widow, and I took her half a loaf of bread and
promised to bring her name before the Lord for as many days as the slices of
bread I gave her. The fourth week I
shared bread and prayers with another friend, also a widow, named Peggy.
After sharing bread with these two friends for a few weeks,
they began to suggest the names of some of their friends who were also widows
that might like to receive both the bread and the prayers. So, my list of “Bread Friends” just kept
growing. Since all of my “Bread Friends”
so far had been Christians, I was feeling pretty complacent about sharing my
bread and my Christian prayers. I considered
it to be my personal bread ministry.
Then I took a whole loaf of bread to a woman in my water
aerobics class who had become a friend, and who had lost her husband suddenly
to a heart attack. She still had
children to raise so when she came back to class, I took the whole loaf
(promising prayers for her family, too). I added the mom’s name to my list of “Bread Friends.”
That was the day I got myself in trouble without even
knowing it. Our water aerobics class was
fairly large. There were more women than
men in the class, but among the men were two men named, Bob. The gals in the class were, shall I say, fun
loving and they decided that in order to tell the two of them apart we’d call
them “young” Bob and “old” Bob. It was
only humorous because “young” Bob was 89 and “old” Bob was 90. They accepted it good naturedly.
It was “old” Bob who came to me and asked if I would be
willing to bake a loaf of bread for him, too, even though he was not
grieving. He was getting quite feeble
and immediately used a walker after exiting the pool. So, he asked if I would bring the bread to
his house because he didn’t think he could get it home safely after class. He lived close to Eastridge Church and was
known to a friend of mine, so I felt safe in delivering the bread. I agreed to drop it off after church the next
Sunday. Later, Bob told me he really
enjoyed the bread and wondered if I could bring him another loaf sometime. I told him I would, but it might be a little
while because it was December and I had a rather full calendar.
By the time I went back to Bob’s, it was Christmas week, so
I stuck a few Christmas cookies in the bag with the bread. That’s when he told me he was Jewish! So I offered to take the cookies back home
because I thought he probably didn’t want Christian symbols in his house while
celebrating his own holiday. He said,
“Oh, no I’ll eat them. They won’t be in
here long!” (I had learned in previous
situations of cookie sharing that there’s just something about old men and
homemade cookies, but that’s another story).
We really only know our classmates at the gym by their first
names. I didn’t know Bob outside of
class, and I had no way of knowing which faith Bob practiced. However, I was so
embarrassed and humiliated because I had just assumed he was a Christian like
me!
While I was in Bob’s home, he gave me a recipe on a piece of
scrap paper saying it was his mother’s rye bread recipe and would I please try
to bake it for him. I declined and
explained that I had tried so many recipes for rye bread and none of them had
produced a loaf I judged to edible. I
told him I really didn’t want to have another failure so I probably wouldn’t
bake it. He said, “Well, just keep the
recipe in case you ever decide you might want to try it someday."
That was when he told me that when he was a boy, his parents
ran a “Little Corner Deli” in New York City where he grew up and his mother
baked that rye bread for the deli, so he knew it was a good recipe. I did bring the recipe home but I’ve never
tried to bake it, and I really have no idea where I put it! More's the pity.
I’m not sure of the exact time frame, but a few months after
that encounter, Bob passed away. Our
class decided to go to the funeral as a group. That’s where I learned some things about Bob. He had been a UNL professor with many honors
to his name. His last name was
Katz. That “Little Corner Deli” in New
York that Bob mentioned so off handedly is now one of the most famous delis in
America. So, somewhere in my house, I do
not even know where to look, is a very good Jewish rye bread recipe I foolishly
declined to try.
Several months ago, just out of curiosity, I "googled" Katz
Deli and looked at their menu. The
average price of a sandwich there is $30! When I look back, I think that Bob giving me that recipe was his way of saying, “Thank you” knowing that someday
I’d figure out what a special gift it was that he had given me.
I’ve never been more embarrassed or humbled while trying to
share my faith than I was that day in December, but more than 20 years later, I
continue to share bread and prayers with my “Bread Friends.” After 26 years of making “Bread Friends” I
have never regretted sharing my bread with anyone irrespective of their
faith. To me, sharing bread is a sacred
act of Christian love, and in the book of Acts Chapter 2 in the Bible we learn
that sharing bread isn’t just for Christians. In Paul’s day, sharing bread was responsible for converting many souls
to our Christian faith.
A couple of years ago, Pastor Thomas asked me to join the
Care Group here at our church and I teamed up with Berna Stading to share bread
with our fellow members in need of prayers for various reasons. Before John Wolfe of our congregation went
home to be with Our Lord, Berna and I visited him and took bread (and
prayers). At John’s funeral, when Berna
and I greeted Mrs. Wolfe she said, “I remember you two, you’re “The Bread
Ladies”" and that name has stuck!
Prayer: Dear Heavenly Father, we praise and thank You for
guiding us as we go through our days on earth. Sharing the gospel can be a
daunting experience for us and sometimes we make mistakes that humble and teach
us to be more careful in what we do and say, but somehow during the process You
make it turn out alright so we can keep on sharing our love of Your Son, Jesus
the Christ. Amen
Judy Welch
* What’s Your Story?
This summer, we invited members of our Eastridge community to explore ABCs of Faith: Simple Stories for Complex Times. In this series, we will be exploring stories from the Bible that tell us about God and God’s people. But our faith is also carried through our own stories.
When someone asks, “What’s your story?” they’re asking about the moments that shaped you: the people, experiences, challenges, and turning points that made you who you are. Scripture is full of such stories—and so are we.
Throughout the series, we’ll offer prompts connected to the themes we’re exploring. You’re invited to share a brief reflection on any prompt that resonates with you—especially a moment that changed your mind, your heart, or your life. Selected stories may be shared (with your permission) in our newsletter, devotionals, or even during worship.
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