I learned something the other evening while laying under the kitchen table hoping somebody might accidentally “drop” a piece of roast beef.
Now, I’ll be honest with you… I’m a professional leftover inspector.
If there’s a forgotten sandwich crust, a cold biscuit, or a lonely piece of bacon hanging around, I’m your dog.
I consider it part of my ministry.
My human was fixing supper and humming one of those old church songs while setting aside part of the meal for a family down the road that had been having a hard time.
But here’s what caught my floppy ears…
He didn’t give them the leftovers.
No sir.
He wrapped up the best part.
The warm rolls.
The fresh meat.
The good dessert too.
I watched in confusion from my strategic position beside the trash can.
Now personally, if I were giving somebody food, I’d probably hand over the burnt ends and keep the juicy middle for myself.
That’s when I heard him say something from church that morning. Pastor Tony Walliser had said, “Don’t give God your leftovers…”
Well now.
That hit harder than a screen door in a thunderstorm.
You know, we humans—and yes, after living with one long enough I feel qualified to say “we”—have a habit of giving God whatever is left after everything else gets our best.
Leftover time.
Leftover energy.
Leftover worship.
Leftover attention.
Leftover money.
But Scripture says in 2 Corinthians 9:7 that “Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver"
I may just be an old dog, but even I know there’s a difference between somebody tossing you a dry stale crust and somebody gladly handing you a thick slice of ham with a smile on their face.
One says, “I guess you can have this.”
The other says, “I’m happy to share what I love.”
That evening my human loaded that meal into the car and carried it down the road with joy.
No complaining.
No sighing.
No acting burdened.
And when he came back home, I noticed something.
He seemed happier after giving than he did before.
I think that’s how God designed it.
Giving our first and best reminds us where every good thing came from in the first place.
And cheerful giving loosens this world’s grip on our hearts quicker than I can loosen fur onto a clean pair of black pants.
So maybe the lesson for us both is this:
Don’t wait until God gets what’s left over.
Give Him your best time.
Your best worship.
Your best effort.
Your best love.
Your first fruits
And do it cheerfully.
Now if you’ll excuse me, somebody left half a biscuit unattended on the counter, and I feel led to investigate.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
