How to offer up your not enough

Jude is one of my greatest joys.

He's 22 months old, super sweet, silly, and a little sneaky. He loves hiding under the covers with Daddy for wild peekaboo games. Loves dragging his green stuffed monkey around the house while chasing hard after his big brothers. He loves to be hugged and squeezed and tickled. Loves to wrestle and climb and run in full delight with all his little legs might.

He is pure and winsome.
Utterly adorable.

I am in LOVE with this little boy.

I love his bubbles-from-the-belly baby giggles. Love the way he grabs my face with two hands and pulls me in for super squishy hugs, cheek pressed to cheek by strong-tiny arms clasped tight around my neck. I love the way his eyes light up when he catches me looking at him just because.

And I love his heart to give.

From half-eaten crackers off the kitchen floor to backyards rocks and weeds, Jude is always trying to give me something.

To him each leaf and stone and squishy tomato is a treasure. He doesn't care if it's broken or rotten. He doesn't know that to others his gift would be overlooked or forgotten. He just wants me to have whatever he has. He wants me to delight in each jewel he's discovered. He wants me to genuinely enjoy each gem he's uncovered.

And I do.

Not because I need another dirty rock or tomato left too long on the vine. But because I delight in Jude. I enjoy what he offers because I enjoy him.

And if that's how I feel as Jude's mama, then certainly that's how God must feel as our Abba.

Sometimes it seems like all I have to offer God are broken bits and inadequate pieces. I wonder what on earth could He possibly do with my messy life, my imperfect words and heart? What meaning could my meager gifts have? What value could my vulnerable offerings bring?

But then I know.

God doesn't need my offerings. He chooses to use them.
I can't give enough. But He chooses to make my not-enough His perfectly-enough.

He didn't need the boy's five loaves and two fish. He didn't need the woman's last drops of oil and handful of flour. The face value of each sacrifice was about as useful as a dried up flower in a broken shovel.

But God turned these willing hearts and humble offerings into glory. 

The people, the things—poor and feeble.  
What God transformed them into—full and perfect.
And all who stood witness and received the tangible blessing in turn understood the fullness of God's power and gave praise for the perfection of His plan.

And today that's what I need to remember.

To trust that God can multiply my meager gift...as long as I'm willing to give it.

I'm a mama who looses her temper. 
I'm a wife who forgets to be grateful.  
But I'm also a woman committed to counting each perfect gift from God,
a woman who's vowing not to let my insecurities and not-enough hang-ups prevent me from offering to Him all that I have and all that I am.

"I will bring you a thanksgiving offering 

and call on the name of the Lord!"

And God will use what I give because He delights in me.

"The Lord will take delight in you."