The Lunchbox and the Miracle

By Mike Osunkwo

We all have them: the "little efforts." The whispered prayer when words feel clumsy and inadequate. The fifty naira slipped into the offering plate, which feels almost embarrassing next to a grand vision. The fifteen minutes of distracted Bible reading before the day's chaos begins. The simple, faltering attempt to be kind when we feel anything but. My little effort. My meagre lunchbox.

I often find myself staring at my own insufficiency. I look at the task, the calling, the relationship, the dream, and then at my hands—at the scant resources of my energy, talent, and faith. The mathematics of my ability simply don't add up to what is required. It's a humbling and sometimes paralysing place to be. We are taught by the world to bring a full résumé, a five-year plan, and guaranteed results. But the Kingdom of God operates on a completely different economy. This is where I am confronted with a truth so profound it reshapes everything: His capacity.

Think of the boy in the crowd, the one with the five barley loaves and two small fish. He didn't have a feast; he had a peasant's meal. It was his small effort, his tangible, physical "this is all I have." In Andrew's hands, it was merely a statement of poverty. Scripture captures the moment with beautiful honesty: "Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?" (John 6:9). That question hangs in the air, heavy with doubt, heavy with the arithmetic of human limitation. But when placed in the hands of Jesus, the equation changed entirely. Christ's capacity didn't just add to the boy's effort; it multiplied it.

That is the divine fulcrum on which all our hope balances. My little effort isn't the point; it's the material. The point is His capacity. His ability to take what is offered, bless it, break it, and make it more than enough. His capacity is not a response to my greatness but to my yieldedness. The miracle isn't that I brought a lot—I didn't. The miracle is that He can do immeasurably more with my little than I could ever do with a mountain of my own strength. My part is to bring the lunchbox, even as I sense its inadequacy. To not let the smallness of my offering keep it hidden. To hand over my faltering prayer, my tired service, my simple act of love, and place them directly into His scarred, capable hands. That is the sacred transaction: I confess, "Lord, this is all I have, and it is not enough." He responds, not with a rebuke, but with a quiet, "It is, when it's in my hands."

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So today, let's not despise the day of small things. Let's not bury our one talent because we fear it isn't enough. Let's simply offer our little effort. Our hope has never been in the size of our lunchbox. From start to finish, our hope is in the infinite, miraculous, and unfailing capacity of the One who holds it.

A Prayer:

Lord Jesus, I come to You with my little—my little strength, my little faith, my little offering. I so often feel it isn't enough, that I am not enough. But I choose today to place it all in Your hands—the hands that took a boy's small lunch and fed a multitude. Take what I have, bless it, break it, and multiply it for Your glory. Let my insufficiency become the canvas for Your sufficiency. Quiet the voice of doubt that whispers, "How far will this go?" and replace it with the quiet confidence that, in Your hands, it will go far beyond what I can ask or imagine. Thank You that my little, surrendered to Your capacity, is always more than enough. Amen.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. — Ephesians 3:20-21