I sat up in bed with a realization I’d just witnessed something profound. I’d dreamed of British soldiers in early twentieth-century uniforms slaughtering hundreds of peaceful demonstrators in India. I inexplicably knew it had something to do with Mahatma Gandhi.

I knew little of Gandhi and less of India’s struggle for independence. I began to study Indian history, the life of Gandhi and the Bhagavad Gita. Soon I realized I’d dreamt of the Amritsar Massacre. On 13 April 1919, British soldiers fired into a group of unarmed protesters, killing nearly 400 souls. 

Gandhi was a peaceful man. He was inclusive. He once said, “I am a Muslim and a Hindu and a Christian and a Jew and so are all of you.” On another occasion, he included Buddhism in that mix. He fasted for peace, unity and the abolishment of poverty, once saying, “Poverty is the worst form of violence.”

After learning more about Gandhi, I felt a strong impression to fast for the hungry throughout the world and to make a contribution to help them. I was struck by the insignificance of my offering. I could give everything, and it would feed only a tiny handful of people for a brief period. My contribution was infinitesimally small compared to the need.

A kind voice whispered, “But I can feed them all.”

Suddenly, I understood it wasn’t about the magnitude of my gift; it was about the act of giving. We each contribute in different ways, balanced in the innumerable intersections of opportunity and ability. Offerings are magnified by an unseen Benevolence, making the gift larger than the giver. If a humble Galilean could feed a multitude with a few loaves and a handful of fishes, surely the Architect of the universe can magnify our tiny gifts to “feed them all.”

We can’t do everything, but we can do something. We can help the person next to us.

(Thumbnail Photo by Aydın Can Korkmaz from Pexels.)