Leftovers

I’m a fan of leftovers. I eat so few foods that when I find something I enjoy, I need to make the most of it. I also prefer leftovers to cooking. I can usually follow a recipe (leaving out anything green and overtly healthy, of course), but that’s the extent of my cooking excellence.

But what if God was coming to dinner? Could I do my best for Him? Or would I serve Him whatever I had left in the fridge?

I’ve never thought much about God and leftovers, but author Francis Chan is changing that. In his book, Crazy Love, he writes:

“God wants our best, deserves our best, and demands our best. Some offerings are acceptable to Him and others are not. (Just ask Cain.) For years I gave God leftovers and felt no shame. I simply took my eyes off Scripture and compared myself to others.
The bones I threw at God had more meat on them than the bones others threw, so I figured I was doing fine. It’s easy to fill ourselves up with other things and then give God whatever is left. God gets a scrap or two only because we feel guilty. A mumbled three-minute prayer at the end of the day, when we are already half asleep. Two crumpled-up dollar bills thrown as an afterthought into the church’s fund for the poor. Fetch, God!”

If that’s not enough to get my attention, a few pages later he adds, “In heaven exists a Being who decides whether or not I take another breath. This holy God deserves excellence, the very best I have.”

One of the (very few) reasons I looked forward to leaving my job was so that my family would get the very best of me. I’m afraid that for years they got a lot of leftovers outta me, literally and figuratively. Mindful of this, sometimes at the end of a long day of work and driving kids all over town, I would purposefully focus on trying to recover the best of who I am to give to the people in my home. I failed a lot, but at least I was aware and usually gave it my best shot.

But God? Does He get my best? Honestly, I don’t think that crosses my mind. He gets a lot of leftovers, and I, like Francis Chan, think, “Well, a five-minute quiet time with a kid on my lap is better than nothing.” Or, more recently, “At least I have good intentions about serving other people, even though I don’t have time to act on them.” Ugh. I certainly don’t underestimate the power of grace, but even that doesn’t cover up the wilty lettuce and day-old bread I’ve dished out for God.

I have a little boy in AWANA, Caleb, who could easily rattle off every Scripture in his book after only a few weeks of practice. But last year, as a first grader, he took it slowly, reciting each one carefully and perfectly before moving on to the next verse. When I asked him why he had slowed down, he answered, “My mom wants me to do my verses with excellence.” And so he did. Caleb’s mom was showing him how to serve God a gourmet meal made with intentionality, diligence, and faithfulness. No leftovers there.