Pray for overflow

You can’t pray for overflow when you keep living like God only gives leftovers.

I’ve been asking God to fill me, to restore me, to pour out abundance, but I have been living with the posture of someone who expects scraps. Someone who tiptoes around blessing as if it is too extravagant for their name to be on it.

Grief has a way of shrinking your expectations.

Loss whispers that lavishness isn’t for you.

Pain convinces you to hold out your hands only halfway….as though God might be offended if you stretch them too wide.

I see now that I’ve been praying prayers of overflow from a heart that still flinches, still braces for disappointment, still prepares for “just enough to survive.”

I’ve been afraid to believe in abundance because abundance feels like risk.

What if He pours out, and then takes again?

What if I trust Him for more, and He leaves me empty? Those fears run deeper than my words ever admit.

But tonight, in the quiet, I felt Him pressing gently on the wound: I do not deal in leftovers.

He is not the God of barely.

He is not the God of crumbs tossed at weary souls.

He is the God of pressed down, shaken together, running over.

The God who multiplies loaves in wilderness places.

The God who fills jars to the brim even when the woman thinks she has nothing left to give.

The God who calls dry bones to live, and expects them not just to stand, but to become an exceeding great army.

So why am I living like blessing is rationed?

Why am I praying for rivers while still expecting drips? Why am I whispering prayers when Heaven is inviting me to live in promises?

Maybe it’s because grief taught me how to survive.

But God is teaching me how to live again.

Survival makes you cautious;

Resurrection makes you bold.

something in me rose—a trembling kind of courage, a quiet defiance against the scarcity mindset grief sewed into my ribs.

I want to live like overflow is my portion.

Not because I am worthy,

but because He is generous.

Not because my story has been light,

but because His glory is weighty.

Not because the road has been fair,

but because the Shepherd still leads me beside overflowing cups and green pastures, even when the valley has been long.

So here is my confession, I am tired of living like I have to earn what God delights to give.

I am tired of acting like His mercy has a limit,

like His goodness slows down when it sees my brokenness, like His hand hesitates when it reaches toward me.

I am done living like God only gives leftovers.

I want to live like His table was set with me in mind.

Like His promises were written in present tense, not past hope.

Like His heart toward me is not hesitant, but overflowing.

Maybe overflow begins with believing you are allowed to receive it.

Maybe the miracle starts when the hands you once kept half-open finally stretch wide.

Maybe healing begins when you trust that God doesn’t just meet needs, He exceeds them.

God of abundance,

teach me to live like You are as generous as You say You are.

Teach me to expect the beauty I stopped believing in.

Teach me to stretch my hands without fear.

Teach me to live—not as a collector of crumbs—

but as a daughter at the table of a God who never serves scraps.

Today, for the first time in a long while…

I feel the faint, holy stirring of overflow.