mark 12:41-44?

i gave a copy of my book to my midwife.
i felt like a bit of a nerd - but i wanted her to have a copy. If she read it, she could see how the very small shift from traditional medicine to midwifery had impacted me as an expectant mama... And too - my book was my attempt to testify to the goodness of God... and for that reason too, i thought it couldn't hurt to share it with her.
It made me open my book and read bits and pieces again. Pieces i hadn't read in months and months - a year? More? And i could see all the flaws - the bits that i could have changed or made better or worded more carefully or expanded or deleted or... or...
Blushing,  i forced myself to put it away.
My book was a small, measured effort. Small, i guess, only in the grande scheme of things because i did pour into it a great deal of effort and love and tears and thought - everything i had in me to make it the best that it could be with the limited resources that i had to pour into it - in a very limited time. My goal was completion. {Cai admitted to me a few weeks ago that the time i spent immersed in writing it wasn't really all that much fun for her - so i'm glad that i chose to measure that time out, and not write a cheque that my poor family couldn't cash for me}.
One of the things i'm learning to admire about a current discipler in my life - is her ability to look calmly about herself, see the work - hear the calling of the Shepherd, and then follow through, pick it up and press on. i've noticed time and again, how similar she is to my husband - not prone to over thinking, to agonizing, to worry and perfectionism.
And so i guess i'm learning from her example a bit - and allowing my little book to just be. And i think in the same way, i'm learning... to just let myself be too.
i'll make my offering - holding my very self out to my Saviour as a most humbling gift...

Oh, Papa...
i'm not good enough...
i should be edited, fixed, polished and perfected.
How can you possibly use me in my present state - i don't have the resources to even polish the meagre mites that i bring...
But i hear your gentle voice - recognizing that i give out of poverty - maybe not monetary... but the kind of poverty that lacks the gloss and shine when i come and offer myself as living sacrifice.

It reminds me of Christina Rossetti's poem that Cai memorized as a tiny wee girl - and i can still hear her crisp voice quoting it as she stood rigid and serious...

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.