Shortly after World War II, the saddest sight for American soldiers who were picking up the pieces in ravaged Europe, was that of little orphaned children starving in the streets of those war-torn cities.
One soldier driving along in his jeep spotted a little lad with his nose pressed to the window of a pastry shop. Inside the cook was kneading dough for a fresh batch of doughnuts. The hungry boy stared in silence, watching every move. The soldier pulled his jeep to the curb and got out to slip over to the boy’s side. Through the steamed-up window he could see the mouth-watering morsels as they were being pulled from the oven, piping hot. The boy salivated and released a slight groan.
The soldier’s heart went out to the orphan. “Son . . . would you like some of those?”
The boy was startled. “Oh, yes, would I!”
The American stepped into the shop, bought a dozen, put them in a bag and walked back to where the lad was standing in the foggy cold of the London morning. He smiled, held out the bag, and said simply: “Here you are.”
As he turned to walk away, he felt a tug on his coat. The soldier looked back and heard the child ask quietly:
“Mister . . . are you God?”
We are never more like God than when we give.