Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.

Baskets buried by dirty clothes. A sink overflowing with last night’s dishes. 4,595 unread emails. Ballet for my daughter. Speech therapy for my son. An infant to nurse. This is it. This is my “everyday, ordinary life” (Romans 12:1, MSG), and each morning, popping my coffee into the microwave a second or third time, I feel like I’m waking up in a swift-current river. Nothing waits, and I'm in over my head. So why did I say yes to serving on the Devotional Team?  

‍

I love to write. I’ve loved it since third grade. It’s my favorite way to worship and serve Jesus. But, as with any form of worship, the feelings do not always show up. In the midst of my busy day, I don’t always feel up to the task. And, as a mom to three unique children, there’s always something of value to sacrifice. Sleep, playtime, housekeeping, sanity. Indeed, the temptation to self-preserve feels like justification enough to not offer my writing as my “spiritual act of worship” (Romans 12:1, NIV).

Then I think of the widow and her copper coins. She gave only a few cents to the temple treasury while “many rich people threw in large amounts” (Mark 12:41). If I swap money for time in this story, I feel like that widow. Do you feel like her, too?  

‍

We’ve got every excuse to not serve. We’re busy. We’re waking up in rivers of chaos, and nothing waits. Nothing waits for us to get it together, to get ahead, or to get right with God. Life is just happening, and any time left over at the end of the day feels like only a few cents. Shouldn’t we save them? Yet Jesus praised the widow’s offering. He says she gave way more than the others because she “put in everything—all she had to live on” (Mark 12:44).  

‍

Friend, what little we have to offer means everything to Jesus. And anything we offer, anything we sacrifice, will not go unnoticed by him. When we offer the stuff of our “everyday, ordinary lives,” we will experience the abundance of Jesus. What he offers in return is anchorage enough for souls wearied by the swift currents of life.

Dear Jesus, I want to honor you with my everyday, ordinary life, whether I’m writing or taking care of my kids. Please accept it as my spiritual act of worship. Help me to keep my eyes fixed on you and not all the stuff of life; help me to give you my time when my instinct is to save it for myself. What little I have to offer, may it honor you and bless others. In Jesus’ name, amen.