Do you ever dream big? 

I do.

I sit at a table at Barnes and Noble next to a tall stack of my newly-released book. Dozens of people line up behind the table, waiting patiently to get their own copy. In this dream, I stand up, offer you a warm smile, and extend a firm, confident handshake, maybe even a heartfelt hug. I reach for my favorite fountain pen and ask you your name so that I can write you a personal note before signing my own name on the fresh, crisp page. My hands are cold and slightly shaking, but your encouraging words put me at ease.

I dream of being interviewed on prominent podcasts to promote my book, and wonder what I will wear when I meet Oprah. 

I want to be like the boy with the two fish and five loaves. I long for my five nouns and two verbs to turn into thousands of words that will feed more than five thousand people.

I listen to podcasts featuring amazing spiritual giants, and I want to be them when I grow up. Fully captivated, I hang onto every word as truth and grace spill from wise lips. If I’m not careful, envy creeps up to choke me; it mocks my abilities, and offers me the fruit of despair, I bite into it as if famished.  

A few months ago, during one of those self-centered, grandiose, New-York-Times-Best-Seller-List fantasies, I paused for a moment to take a quick inventory of my heart and motives. I knew that my crazy visions were destined to place me in a mood filled with self-pity and discouragement—I’m quite familiar with that mood. We’ve become tight friends. It’s a place where my pride gets crushed, and I wonder if I will ever make a difference. The answer is always a resounding no. As usual, I quickly moved from dreaming of selling millions of books to thinking I’d never write another word in my life. 

We all dream to some extent to make a difference in this world. Perhaps you make a difference with words too, or with music, or dance. Your giftedness and craft may involve paints and brushes, or numbers, or bricks, or fabrics, or flour, sugar, and eggs. Making a difference can be realized in a classroom, boardroom, factory, street, or hospital. This desire is ingrained in the essence of our beings because we were created for purpose and significance. These aspirations confirm who we are as humans: creators, difference makers. God is in the business of changing the world, and as His image bearers, we are designed to do the same. 

But sometimes our fantasies get the best of us. And like me, we can get carried away by self-centeredness. We want to usher people into the presence of our egos instead of the presence of God. This puts a heavy burden on our work. The pressure of showing up and performing to satisfy our own expectations eventually evolves into self-defeating thinking. It does for me.

Whenever I find myself heading down that road, I make myself come to a complete stop and pray. 

Lord, I want to be your instrument. I want to be used by you. I want to make a difference. I want to be worthy of my calling so that the name of Jesus may be glorified. I want to bring my five loaves and two fish and watch you multiply them and feed your hungry people through my offering. 

On one of those occasions, I actually meant what I prayed, and I kept quiet just long enough to hear Him whisper to me: 

“For now, my loved one, you are not the boy, you are the widow.”

I knew exactly who He was talking about. 

So I opened my Bible and began to read 1 Kings 17:8-16. 

The Widow of Zarephath was hit hard with the drought that the Lord had brought on the land. She and her son had nothing left but a handful of flour and a little oil in a jug. Just when she thought death and despair had won, God sent Elijah to her. Elijah asked her to feed him and assured her that the flour wouldn’t be spent and the oil would not run out. She obeyed and opened herself to God. Amazing things happened. Every time she showed up to bake her daily bread, God supplied what she needed.

There is no drought or famine in my life. I’m not starving to death. But I understand why the Spirit led my heart to her. In a small measure, I, too, experience the angst of wondering if these are the last words I have left. Is this the end of the road for my writing journey? I’m hungry for worth and significance. I want to feed the people. But when God sends only one person to me, I say, Here’s my fish and bread, Lord. Multiply my gift, Lord. Make it big, Lord. Let there be enough for the thousands. 

Then he says, “Go. Here is a handful of flour and a little oil—make one loaf of bread. You will feed the one I send to you.”

My fellow dreamer, everything that we do is grandiose in God’s economy. Every obedient investment is multiplied. Every surrender is honored. With every gift you offer, He feeds the hungry.

I , too, want to practice this kind of surrender, so, I wake up every day and I walk into my heart’s “kitchen” and I reach into my jar of flour and my jug of oil. Sometimes there is a little, sometimes there is a lot. But it is never empty. His Spirit is always there, ready to feed me and ready to feed whomever He has sent my way. I reach into it in faith. 

Today, I take my oil, I pour it onto my flour, and bake my daily bread. 

Here, I made this for you. 

Whenever you long to make a difference, whether it be to feed thousands or just the one that He sends to your door, the miracle worker will have what you need. He will multiply your bread and fish. He will provide the flour and oil. And through your work of obedience, the hungry will be fed, one person at a time.