Cutting Brownies: "Dividing with Justice"

Cutting Brownies: "Dividing with Justice"

"He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." - Micah 6:8 (NIV)

The scale trembled under my weathered hands as I measured rice-one cup per family member, no more. Behind me, a line of mothers clutched empty bowls, their children's hollow eyes fixed on every grain. Maria, holding her newborn, stepped forward. Her family of five deserved five cups, but her baby couldn't eat rice yet. Should I give her less?

The woman behind her, Fatima, had seven children. The math was simple, but the youngest looked skeletal. Every decision felt like playing God with empty stomachs.

"Señora," Maria whispered, "my baby... he cannot..."

I looked into her tired eyes and made my choice. Four cups for Maria, but I slipped an extra handful of the powdered milk from my personal stash into her bowl. Justice tempered with mercy.

Twenty years later, I stand in my suburban kitchen, knife poised over a pan of warm brownies. My three grandchildren wait at the counter, my Emma, age 8, bouncing with excitement; my quiet lad James, 10; and my curious teenage Sarah, scrolling her phone but sneaking glances at the dessert.

"Whoever has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and whoever has food should do the same." - Luke 3:11 (NIV)

The brownies are uneven. The corner pieces are smaller, the middle ones larger. Emma always wants the biggest piece. James never asks for anything. Sarah claims she "doesn't really want any" but always finishes whatever she's given.

I pause, remembering those trembling scales, those desperate mothers.

Micah 6:8 echoes in my heart, the same verse that guided my hands in that dusty camp. Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly.

I cut carefully. Three equal pieces from the centre, rich and perfect. Emma starts to protest about wanting the corner piece with extra frosting, but I catch her eye.

"Sometimes," I say softly, placing the squares on small plates, "fair doesn't mean everyone gets exactly what they want. It means everyone gets what they need."

Emma considers this. James smiles-perhaps the first time someone has made sure he got his fair share without having to ask. Even Sarah looks up from her phone, touched by the intentionality of the moment.

Justice isn't just for refugee camps or courtrooms. It lives in everyday choices—how I divide my attention, my resources, my love. God sees the mother who gets the last cup of rice and the grandmother who cuts brownies with equal care.

In both places, holy ground. In both moments, the chance to reflect His heart.

Wayfarer’s Reflection:

As I ponder of the final draft of my account at home I say to the Lord, whether dividing scarce resources or abundant blessings, teach my hands to serve with justice and my heart to give with mercy. In every small act of fairness, may others glimpse Your character. Help me remember that every portion I share-great or small-matters to You and to those I serve.