I think, growing up, that I didn’t like leftovers.

Even the word isn’t likeable. It’s not what’s important or valuable. It’s what is left over.

And it’s what’s for supper tonight.

But we’re not really eating leftovers. Nancy planned that our meal would have enough helpings so that we could eat one helping on Saturday and a second helping on Monday.

Not surplus, not left over, not scraps.

Planned. Prepared. Intentional.

When Jesus fed the huge crowd and had the disciples gather up the remaining food, there were twelve baskets, one for each disciple. Not surplus, perhaps. Not scraps.

Planned. Prepared. Intentional.

When the children of Israel gathered two helpings worth of manna on Friday morning, it wasn’t that they were eating leftovers on the sabbath.

It was planned. Prepared. Intentional.

When there is barely enough but enough energy for a conversation or for a meal.  When there is enough to be able to share. When we make the commitment to help and then remember that we have a resource we had forgotten so it’s not really a sacrifice after all.

Sometimes, not always, opening our fists and sharing what seems not much is actually enough for us and them. But if we say, “I’ve only got leftovers, it’s not worth sharing,” I think that may be true, too.

It’s possible that these words, written with what’s leftover on a Sunday, may end up being planned. Prepared. Intentional. Not by me, of course. But surprisingly of value to you and to me.