A thief broke into a monk’s hut at 2 a.m., flashlight in his teeth, and found exactly one bowl, one blanket, and a monk who was already awake.
“Sorry,” the monk said. “There’s really nothing here.”
The thief, embarrassed, started to leave. The monk stopped him. “Wait—take the blanket. It’s cold out.”
The thief stood there a second too long, like he was waiting for the monk to be angry, or scared, or at least a little disappointed in him. None of that came.
He told people for years it was the worst robbery of his life. He’d broken in expecting to take something, and instead he left owing someone.
Eventually he became a monk.
He still gives away blankets. Never checks who’s cold first.