O Lord,
You asked for grain, not because You need it,
but because I need to remember where it comes from.
Every handful of flour, every drop of oil, every breath I breathe
all of it is Yours.
And yet how quickly I forget, how quickly I hoard,
how quickly I grumble as though I own anything at all.
I confess, Father, that I withhold from You.
I bring You leftovers instead of firstfruits,
half hearted thanks instead of wholehearted worship.
I act like the work of my hands is mine alone,
when it was You who gave the rain, the soil, the strength.
O God, forgive me for living as if I am the source.
Still You invite me to bring my offering.
You welcome my flour, my oil, my broken worship.
You let my small, fragile gift
become a sweet smelling aroma before Your throne.
What kind of mercy is this?
That the Creator of heaven and earth delights
in the crumbs of a beggar’s devotion.
So take me, Lord.
Grind me like flour, crush me like grain,
anoint me with the oil of Your Spirit,
set me apart with the incense of Your presence.
Let my life be an offering,
not of riches or power,
but of gratitude, dependence, and love.
Amen.