“Bread of Heaven, Breath of Hope”

Manna fell, white as frost, a gift from God, no labor lost. Bread of heaven, daily grace, a witness kept in sacred place.
We could not eat without His hand; He fed His people through the land. I too remember nights of pain, a trac, a struggle, endless strain.
Yet through the silence, through the fear, God whispered softly, “I am near.” Nightmares broke, His mercy stayed, my soul was lifted, unafraid.
Provision comes in many ways, not just in bread for wilderness days. But strength to rise, to breathe again, to walk with hope where I had been.
So, I will keep my portion true, a testimony of what God can do. From manna kept in jars of gold, to living stories my life will hold.
© Susan Ruth Robertson 9256110/17/2004