He’ll Make the Most of Your Fishes & Loaves
Growth looks different for all of us.
For example, over the last, oh, I don’t know, five years or so, I’ve gotten better at letting my family live in my house.
Allow me to explain what I mean by that—as a self-proclaimed neat freak, clutter of any kind just irks me.
This is not new for me. During family movie nights as a kid, I was constantly out of my spot “fixing” things. Picking up tiny scraps of paper or pieces of fluff that others’ eyes just slid right over. Flipping over VHS’s that one of my siblings had so wrongly stuffed back into our extensive collection of Disney movies upside down. Fluffing a curtain back into shape after it had gotten brushed aside or tangled in a way I found distracting. I simply could not watch the movie if I didn’t “fix” all of these things; my eyes would continuously travel back to the offender until I took care of it.
If there is a name for this kind of behavior I’d love to know what it is because it honestly doesn’t sound normal to me, ha!
Whatever it’s called, it followed me into adulthood and I’ve spent the last twelve years teaching myself that it IS possible to co-exist with clutter. And if you’re wondering why I’ve gotten better at this specifically in the last five years, for context, my youngest was born in 2020 and I’m not sure if it was because I knew he was my last baby or because I was simply too tired to care anymore, but whatever the reason, I have slowly gotten better at allowing my family’s things to reside in this home—even right out in the open sometimes, where they clearly do not belong.
Growth.
In 2024 I grew in other (less crazy!) ways.
I began praying more regularly.
I found a good, healthy balance at work and created some important boundaries for myself.
And, perhaps most importantly, I learned to stop trying to do everything all at once with everything that I had in me.
If you read my December blog post, you’ll remember that I am an Achiever (you can read that post here for more context if you didn’t: https://www.sarawhitley.com/2024/12/19/dear-god-have-you-considered-doing-it-my-way/ ) – a relentless pursuer of finish lines who has a hard time resting even after having crossed said finish line. I am happiest when I am running hard and fast after something, the resulting endorphins never lasting quite long enough for me to just…be. I recover from the exertion quickly and I want to lace up the running shoes and hit the pavement running towards the next goal.
2024 was my first full calendar year back at work in a full-time job outside my home. By January of 2024, I’d been in my new role for nine months and finally, finally felt like I knew what I was doing and, dare I say, that I was pretty darn good at it (bless my eighteen-year-old heart for being obedient to the call of studying social work because I truly do feel like I was made for this line of work!). With my kids thriving at school and daycare and a manageable rhythm to our days, I also felt like I could finally add in some “extras” back into my life—one of the biggest being regular writing, something I’d had to put on hold for a solid six months while I adjusted myself and my kids to our new way of life.
As I finished and prepared to launch my fourth book into the world, it became all I wanted to do. The story consumed my mind at all times, and I wanted the whole world to know about it and read it when it released (while at the same time fearing anyone doing so because what if I’m a garbage writer and all I get is negative, nasty reviews?).
One of the easiest places to promote a book (okay, maybe not easy, but certainly one of the most convenient) is on social media. But because I’m not extremely active on any of my platforms—a boundary I had to draw for my mental health years ago—my following is modest at best and posts don’t gain much traction.
This normally doesn’t bother me. Some weeks I go days and days without logging onto Facebook and Instagram; not having the pressure of “needing” to go check on a post on my author platforms to make sure I replied to any comments so that my reach increases has been one of the most freeing experiences of my life. I much prefer living in the real world and investing in the flesh-and-blood relationships the Lord has placed in my circle (and there just isn’t a lot of evidence to support that the more followers you have, the more books you sell).
Even so, during a book release you will see me more active on social media. And in 2025 I do plan to post a bit more, not because I think it’ll really impact book sales but because God has been teaching me some pretty incredible lessons that I, as a storyteller, simply want to share.
And what do you know? The more active I am on social media, the more the ugly habits that caused me to mostly cut it out of my life rear their ugly heads. Frustration over the lack of likes/comments in proportion to the time spent creating content. Jealousy over other’s booming social media accounts. Obsessively checking my accounts in the hopes of seeing that satisfying red notification flag.
All this was naturally at its worst in October in the weeks leading up to my book launch. Realizing my heart was falling into old sin patterns, I questioned the best path forward. To abandon my attempts to drum up interest in my upcoming book, knowing that Jesus said that if “your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell” or to pray for better self-control and the ability to function on these platforms so that I could get the message of my book out to more people—one of love and grace and hope in a good and gentle God? Strongly considering just taking myself off social media altogether, a question edged into the corner of my mind—would you do so in response to the sinful behaviors you need to repent of, or because deep down you’re too scared that you’re not good enough and that you really don’t want anyone to read your book?
It was a pickle if there ever was one, my friend!
As time passed, I became increasingly frustrated, finally boiling over at one central realization.
I don’t have enough time.
I don’t have enough time to write as much as I want to our used to when, every afternoon, I could lose myself in my fictional worlds while my kids napped. And I certainly don’t have enough time to market those books, the act of creating content and interacting online taking precious time away from my already very limited writing time. I could push myself more; stay up into the wee hours of the night or get up before the sun to pound out the words always living rent free in my mind.
It’s tempting, it is. But oftentimes my body won’t let me; exhaustion pushing me to rest even as my mind protests to buck up and push through it. In years past I’ve listened to my mind, then paid dearly for it when my emotions boil over or my relationships with my husband and kids begin to strain due to lack of proper rest. I know the price of pushing myself too hard, and I’ve finally, finally trained myself to make rest a regular rhythm of my life.
But oh, do I struggle against this hard-fought discipline, like an over-tired toddler resisting their afternoon nap.
You see, I want to give my books more. I want to give God more than these measly few fishes and stale loaves. He deserves more, but these few hours a week—weeknights after my kids are in bed, Saturday mornings, and Sunday afternoons—they’re all I have.
And I can’t help but wonder—is this enough for Him?
Two things helped me answer this question. The first was this hauntingly beautiful song by Josiah Queen, his lyrics washing over my heart over and over as I played this song on repeat this fall:
They brought me to the man
I put the food in his hand
Held back my questioning thoughts
Something told me that the preacher could
See the war between my head and heart
When he said
Oh my child let go
I know you’re uneasy, but I’m in control
I don’t need that much for me to show
I’ll make the most of your fishes and loaves
These lyrics brought to mind a devotion on Luke 17:6 that Ben and I had read to our kids a few months earlier (side note, if you’re looking for a good family devotional, I can’t recommend “Dinner Table Devotions” by Nancy Guthrie highly enough). It’s a familiar passage—“For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you”—but one I realized I’d misunderstood all my life. I thought this passage was a reminder that even the smallest faith can grow into one that is mighty and flourishing—after all, the tiny mustard seed grows into one of the most towering of trees. And while I do believe we can still correctly interpret this verse this way, Guthrie offers a different view. She asserts that “When the disciples asked Jesus how to get more faith, he didn’t give them a formula for increasing the amount of their faith. He told them that it isn’t the amount of faith that matters but the object of faith. In fact, the only thing that matters about your faith is who you put your faith in. Jesus showed what he meant by telling them all they needed was faith the size of a mustard seed—a tiny seed no bigger than a freckle on your nose. He was saying that if faith in God is present at all, even if it is no bigger than a mustard seed, it can accomplish wonders because of who God is. It’s not up to us to work up enough faith and get rid of all doubt so that God will be convinced we’re worthy of whatever it is we’re asking for. That’s putting our faith in faith, and not God.”
My offerings—and faith, at times—are small. But God is BIG! He can take my tiny faith and my measly offerings and still accomplish all he set out to accomplish when he laid the foundations of the world. And honestly? He doesn’t need those offerings at all! He could still accomplish what he set out to accomplish without them, but in his great kindness towards us he allows us—and wants us—to participate in this great love story.
This beautiful truth has allowed me to offer up all I can in this season of life – those few hours a week – into his loving hands and then step back and watch him work. To trust that he will take those fishes and loaves and multiply them beyond my wildest dreams.
Because after all—he doesn’t need that much to show how powerful he is.
He will make the most of our fishes and loaves.
