Very few westerners understand what it is to be truly hungry. We complain of our hunger, say we are "starving", without ever really knowing the reality of those words. Everyday we have made small sandwiches (not really bologna, but it tastes like it) and bagged them up with a few pretzels and a chunk of cucumber for 200 or so gypsy kids. These kids know what hungry is. I think many of them know what starving is.

A few of the children open their bags immediately and chow down with a ferocity that would put a lion to shame. Most however do not. They take them home, to give them to other family members or to eat slowly over several meals. Some try to trick us into giving them more or have a bad attitude about the whole thing, but most are incredibly grateful and gracious.

How many times have I been rude to a waitress because she didn't get my order perfect? How many times have I eaten far more than I needed to with no concern for what I will eat tomorrow?

I watch these kids and I wonder. Could I handle that level of desperation? Could I be gracious in accepting a tiny meal of the same thing every day? Could I, with hunger pains clawing at my own stomach, give my food to someone else?

We feed these kids for two reasons. One, because they need it. And two, because it is hard for a person to think about things like the armor of God when their tummy is rumbling. We feed them to strengthen their bodies and give their souls room to soak in the lessons and the love we are also giving them. they are sandwiches for their souls.

But I have found them to be sandwiches for my soul too. Helping me get my priorities straight, my attitude right and my eyes focussed on doing my part. I never thought cutting bread could pierce me to the heart and bring that piece of my heart closer in line with God. But it has.