Such a Tiny Offering

There is a line in the MercyMe song “God With Us” that I keep coming back to this week...

“Such a tiny offering…” 

Sometimes when this happens, I just need to be still and let the lyrics sit with me and ask God to reveal himself in the repeated phrase.  

About a week ago, Peter mentioned that the hummingbirds were back looking for their feeders. And I immediately felt a little guilty because I had not put the feeders out this year.

Historically, we have hummingbirds twice a year, and my porch used to be full of them. There was a time when we had thirty or more hummingbirds buzzing around with absolutely no regard for our human presence. And it was magical.

That was back in the season when I had babies on the porch. 

Every afternoon, in the middle of the chaos of raising children, I would find peace sitting outside while they played with sand tables and water tables and whatever else kept little hands busy. I would sit there and watch the hummingbirds come and go. I would hear the buzz of the tiny, fast, shimmering wings and think how life had shifted with motherhood. I had traded the buzzing of offshore rods or downtown nights or the busy buzz of an office..... 

With motherhood, I knew a different kind of buzz - slower, less coming and going of my own and more watching the coming and goings. The hummingbirds became part of that season for me.

But as the children grew, so did my ability to move around freely. I was no longer planted on the porch for hours the same way. The season changed. And over time, even though I still put feeders out faithfully for a while, the feeders eventually became old, crusty, broken, and unusable. One by one, they disappeared.

And eventually, so did the birds.

So when Peter told me he saw one, I got online and ordered three small mason jar-style feeders and a gallon of hummingbird nectar.

I put them out as soon as they arrived! Hopeful.

And then life kept moving.  ~ School schedules, ministry events, wrestling practices, scouts, homesteading routines....  We celebrated milestone birthdays. My youngest turned twelve — his last birthday-party-style birthday. My middle turned fifteen ... and all that since late last week.

The seasons keep changing faster than I can keep up. But today, while everyone else was off doing their own thing, I reclaimed my favorite place on earth to sit with the Lord. My front porch. 

And guess what has happened? The hummingbirds have returned.

As I sat there in the evening golden hour, the sun peeking through the trees, the breeze moving through the leaves, and the wind chimes reminding me to pray, I heard that familiar buzz. I looked up and waited to see which feeder they would choose. To my absolute joy, they came to all three.

Not just one hummingbird. Several.

A red throat.

A jet black one.

A small green and blue one.

Hummingbirds have this incredible ability to return year after year to the same place, looking for the same garden, the same porch, the same food source. And if you feed them, they come back.... in a day - about every 15 minutes... but in a lifetime... They'll come back year after year after year.

That thought sat with me as I moved my rocking chair into a prime viewing location.

Not waiting on something loud or miraculous. Just settling in to watch something steady, familiar, and faithful. And that song lyric came back to my mind:

"Such a tiny offering."

That is all. Such a small thing for me to do. And yet, these tiny beautiful creatures come and grace my porch with their presence. How little they require from me. And how much joy they give in return.

I started thinking about how often that is true in our walk with the Lord too. Not that we earn His presence.

We do not.

Not that we bring anything equal to what He has given us.

We cannot.

Because what could we ever offer that compares to Calvary?

Romans says:

“God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

— Romans 5:8

While we were still sinners. Before we had anything cleaned up. Before we knew how to come correctly. Before we could bring anything worthy. Before we understood religion or read Scripture or got baptized.... 

Jesus gave Himself for us. And, after all He has done, He invites us to draw near.

James 4:8 says:

“Come near to God and He will come near to you.”

That verse feels tender to me tonight because while He does not condemn... there is still room for conviction, and I recognize that sometimes I neglect the relationship. 

Not because I stop loving Him. Not because I stop believing. Not because I quit serving even. 

But because life gets full and busy and LOOKS  like relationship enough. 

The feeders get old. The rhythms fall away. The porch season changes. The babies grow up. The days get busy. And slowly, the place where I once sat with Him so easily becomes a place I pass by on my way to the next thing. 

But the moment I turn back toward Him, He is not reluctant. He is not cold. He is not standing at a distance saying, “Well, it took you long enough.” 

He is near. Ready. Faithful. Waiting with the same grace He has always had. 

Tonight, that is what overwhelmed me on the porch. The hummingbirds did not need a grand gesture. They did not need a rebuilt garden or a perfectly clean porch or hours of my effort hanging fancy feeders. They came back to the familiar place where food had been set out for them. 

Returning to the Lord feels like that sometimes. Not complicated. Not dramatic. Just drawing near again. Opening the Bible. Whispering a prayer. Singing a song. Sitting still. Turning off the noise. Making space.

The offering feels tiny compared to all He has done.

Paul writes:

“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.”

— Romans 12:1

That sounds big. And in some ways, it is. But often it happens in the smallest places.

On the porch. In the kitchen. In the quiet. In the decision to sit with the Lord instead of rushing past Him. In the willingness to offer Him our time, our attention, our gratitude, our hearts.

Not because our offering is impressive. But because He is worthy of it all!

Psalm 116:12 asks:

“What shall I return to the Lord for all His goodness to me?”

That is the question my porch asked me today. What do I give back to the God who has given me everything? My answer may feel small.

A little mason jar of sugar water and a rocking chair moved into place to take in a moment with Him!

But the size of the offering is not the point; it's the heart behind it.

Just like the hummingbirds.... They were there thriving - just not with me on my porch! They didn't disappear... I did! They didn't need my feeders.

The Lord has never needed anything from me. He is not sustained by my worship. He is not made more glorious by my attention.

He is already holy.

Already worthy.

Already good.

But in His mercy, He allows me to participate. He allows me to draw near. He allows me to bring my tiny offering and lay it before Him. And somehow, He gives me more than I bring every single time.

I give Him a few quiet minutes, and He gives me peace.

I give Him my attention, and He gives me wonder.

I give Him my tired heart, and He gives me rest.

I give Him my repentance, and He gives me mercy.

I give Him my small faith, and He reminds me He is always faithful.

It is not a fair exchange.

It is grace.

So tonight, I am sitting on my porch in my favorite season.

Not summer. Not fall. Not winter or spring.

But that twice-a-year season when the hummingbirds visit my porch.

And I am grateful. Grateful they came back. Grateful Peter noticed. Grateful I put the feeders out. Grateful for the breeze and the trees and the wind chimes. Grateful for the boys growing up, even when it makes my heart ache a little. Grateful that even when I neglect the rhythm, He is still ready when I return.

Such a tiny offering.

Such a faithful God.

What small offering of time, attention, worship, or gratitude might God be inviting you to bring back to Him today?

Lord, thank You for meeting me in small, quiet places. Thank You for Your mercy, Your patience, and Your faithfulness when I return to You. Help me draw near again with a willing heart, even when my offering feels small compared to all You have done. Teach me to notice Your goodness, make space for Your presence, and worship You in the ordinary rhythms of my days and the extraordinary moments of my life. Amen.

Until next time, keep following the Plott, and I will be praying for us all. 💛