I often walked through the green valleys where the wheat bowed low to the wind, watching the birds drink without spilling a drop. There is a hunger in men that drives them to take rather than to share, forgetting that life flows only when it moves freely. I saw a neighbor hoard his grain while others starved, believing his store was his own making, yet the earth gave both seed and sun to all.

Before you sleep tonight, offer a piece of your bread to the stranger at your door, not as a debt but as a gift that returns to your own soul. Let your table be a place where hands meet without fear, for the one who gives freely finds in that giving the truest part of himself.