Bringing What You Have

Hey there, sister. Are you tired?

I am. Even as I sit down to write in this little corner of the internet that’s so dear to me, I can feel the weight of it all — the responsibilities that never seem to end.

There’s the big stuff, work worries, bills, and parenting decisions that keep us up at night. And then there’s the small stuff that somehow feels just as heavy — packing lunches, letting the dog out (again), wiping down the counters, folding that same pile of laundry that seems to multiply overnight.

It’s not just the doing, is it? It’s the sameness of it all — the repetition. Eat breakfast. Take out the trash. Boil the water. Fold the towels. Didn’t I just do all this yesterday? You feel it too? Okay, good. I thought maybe it was just me.

Or perhaps you're tired of yourself. From that same sin that you are battling...again. You ask yourself, "Why am I struggling with this again?" That thorn that haunts you. That calls for you. The one that seems to lurk around every corner, just waiting for you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the widow’s mite from Mark 12: 41–44. You probably remember it, but let me share it here so you don’t have to go look it up:

“And he (Jesus) sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him and said to them, ‘Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’”

That story has been sitting with me lately — especially as I think about what it means to bring what we have to God...

A couple of months ago, my youngest daughter, Vada (she’s 8), had been saving up her allowance to buy her doll some new clothes. She earns $2 a week for her chores — brushing her teeth, making her bed, filling her water bottle each morning — little things that help her learn responsibility. When my mom’s birthday came around, Vada decided she wanted to give all her savings to Mimi so she could get her nails done at the salon. She had saved $10. She tucked it inside a handmade card with a little drawing of a hand and bright red fingernails. (Mimi always chooses red polish — always.) Now, my mom is retired and financially comfortable. She can go get her nails done anytime she wants. She didn’t need Vada’s $10. But when she opened that card, she was deeply touched. Because Vada gave from her heart - out of joy, out of love, out of sacrifice — not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She loves Mimi, and it made her happy to give to her.

That’s what touched me. That’s what touched her.

Maybe you’re tired today. Maybe even sitting here, taking a few quiet minutes to read this is your offering — your way of saying, “Lord, I pause to quiet my heart. I trust You. I’m choosing to believe that I am not defined by what I accomplish today.”

You bring what you have. Whether that’s overflowing energy and enthusiasm, or a few weary crumbs of it. Whether you have abundance or scarcity. You bring it — not because He needs it (He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, after all, Psalm 50:10) — but because what He truly desires is your heart. My heart.

Will we bring Him our hearts today? We can do it together — from wherever we are in the world. And maybe one day, we’ll get to stand beside each other in heaven and marvel at all the small offerings that became something full of splendor in His hands.

My prayer for us is this: That we would bring what we have — right here, right now. Not when life slows down, not when the kids are grown, not when we “finally have enough.”In the small, unseen moments and the big, brave yeses — may we bring our whole hearts before our King in worship.

And perhaps, in God’s upside-down kingdom, our worship is more productive than we realize. Maybe the endless “must-dos” of our days have been stealing our attention from what truly matters. Because for those of us in Christ, it’s in resting — not striving — that our lives begin to open up to eternal things, the ones that matter most.