When Shared Our Last Meal with Our Dog-And Miracle Followed

In 2017, my family and I faced one of the hardest times of our lives. With money gone and cupboards nearly empty, we found ourselves counting every meal. One day, we had only a single loaf of bread to split between six people-and our loyal dog. What happened after that simple act of love reminded me that miracles still exist, and that food isn't just for survival- it's a language of care, even across species.

That evening, we tore the bread into small pieces so everyone-including our furry friend-could have something. We gave her two slices, hoping it would keep her full. But she wasn't used to eating just once a day, and certainly not something so plain. Later that night, she began scratching at the door and barking nonstop. I could hear her stomach growling. My heart sank.

Even though we were down to our last cup of maize meal , I knew I had to do something. I made a small pot of maize porridge, stirred with love and desperation. That bowl wasn't just food-it was a prayer. I placed it in front of her. She wagged her tail, licked the pot clean, and then curled up peacefully. I sat on the floor and cried. Not because I was sad-but because I had done something that felt right, even in a moment of scarcity.

The next morning,something unbelievable happened. A deposit appeared in my account. It was unexpected. No warning. No explanation. Just a small amount-but enough to buy food for the week and carry us through to month-end. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I truly believed that the love and care poured into that one act of kindness brought us a blessing.

We often talk about miracles in grand ways-lottery wins,life-changing opportunities, or divine visions. But sometimes, a miracle is just a warm meal shared in love, a dog's wagging tail, or an unexpected deposit that arrives exactly when you need it most.

Looking back, that day taught me that food is more than nourishment, it's a form of expression. When you have nothing, sharing what little you do have becomes an act of grace. Our dog didn't speak our language, but she understood that we cared. She felt loved. And in return, she gave us her peace-and perhaps, unknowingly, her blessing.

I carry that story with me whenever I cook. Every time prepare a meal-no matter how simple- I do it with heart. Whether it's a curry, a stew, or a bowl of porridge, it's a reminder that food can carry prayers, heal wounds, and speak louder than words. That's why I started sharing these stories. Not because I'm a chef, but because I'm a believer in the spirit food-how it connects us, grounds us, and sometimes saves us.

That moment taught me more than any life lesson ever could. I t reminded me that love isnt't about how much you have,but what you choose to do with what's left. We were running on empty, but we still chose kindness. That small gesture of cooking porridge for our dog became a symbol of who we are- a family that holds onto compassion, even when the world seems to be crumbing.

Food has memory. That bowl of porridge will foever be etched in mine. When I'm in the kitchen today, and I smell the steam rising from maize meal or rice, I remember that night. I remember the hunger, the barking, the tears-and the peace that followed.

Since then, I 've believed that food speaks. It carries our energy. It tells our stories. And sometimes, it delivers the miracle we never expected.

"Love isn't measured by what you give, but by what you're willing to share when you have the least"