Half of what is mine is yours

Today I went for lunch at BPs. I had the most delicious buffalo chicken sandwich. I never steer away from it and try anything else, it's just too good. It's a very large sandwich and I usually eat the whole thing. I just can't stop eating it. But afterwards I hurt and immediately regret my impulsive decision. Today I ate only half of it and boxed the other half.

Today I also met Hank. Well Hank is his street name he says. His real name is Henry. I met him walking home from school. He stopped me and asked for a quarter. I did my usual, "Sorry I have no money" but we continued to talk. He told me he's a lone ranger, originally from Battleford. Between his slurred speech and drooling he also told me he's 57 and I also heard the word "hungry" somewhere in there. Perfect, I thought! I have half a sandwich. I gave it to him and he seemed excited. But he told me not to worry about him because he's a survivor. He went to a Residential School, been through two divorces and travelled all over alone. When I asked if he had kids he immediately broke down and cried, telling me he had a son but the police found him frozen just outside of Saskatoon ten years ago. My heart sank. I asked him if I could pray for him and he tried to brush me off, saying he was fine. But he never left. He then let me pray for him and in the middle of the School Division parking lot, as people walked past, I prayed for him. We kissed and hugged and talked some more and said good-bye a hundred times but never seemed to be able to leave.

Half of what is mine is yours.

John was speaking to a crowd, and after he called them all vipers, they asked, "What should we do then?" John answered, "The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same." (Luke 3:11)

People interpret this many ways. But I say, if you have a whole buffalo chicken sandwich, half of it doesn't belong to you.