I don't know about you guys, but for me, sometimes it's way too easy to feel purposeless.
Usually I feel like all I do is reclean and recook and refold and reteach, day after day.
And I look around and I see some people living these magnificent lives, impactful and meaningful and productive. And I kind of feel like ... leftovers. Scraps. Not adding any value.
And this morning - I know, it's silly, but bear with me - I set a batch of sourdough to rise to make bagels. Mixed it, kneaded it (bliss!), and then when it was soft and springy and perfectly smooth, rolled it in a ball to rest, while I scraped out the bowl where it would sit and slowly rise.
I found a surprising amount of dough in the bowl, maybe a quarter cup, and I was about to toss it out when I suddenly felt bad for the scrapings. They had done all the work of fermentation, had been mixed and scraped and mixed and scraped again, and now - nothing. Garbage can.
So although I laughed at myself for feeling sorry for a handful of leftover scrapings, I took it over to my smooth, springy ball of dough and worked it through. Fold, press, turn. Fold press turn. And God sang to my heart about His heart. He wasn't laughing at me for feeling sentimental over the scrapings.
He feels the same way.
How do I know? Well - you know the miracle of the loaves and fishes, where Jesus fed five thousand people from one lunch of bread and fish? Guess what he did with the leftovers?
He gathered them up. Gathered them, and counted them; twelve baskets full. Every basket proclaims his glory, his abundance, his more-than-enoughness.
Maybe there was one basket for each disciple, to teach them this truth: in Christ, there are no scraps.
No leftovers.
No garbage.
We matter.
I matter.
You matter.
Every one of us, gathered up and counted.
