Is Anything Ever Too Small to Bring to God?

A reflection on loss, prayer, and God’s attentive grace

During this past season of Christmas, I found myself wrestling with an uncomfortable question. one that to me, sounds small, even selfish at first glance.

Is it proper to ask God to help find something as ordinary as a missing wallet when others are grieving losses far greater than mine? A friend mourning the loss of a spouse. A son is facing a serious eye operation. A congregation grieving the departure of a beloved pastor. In the face of such deep sorrow, would God even care about my small loss?  That question became personal during the Christmas break when I lost my wallet. With so many requests for others, doesn’t God have his priorities?

It held only a few dollars, but also my driver’s license, Medicare and supplemental insurance cards, and two credit cards. Anyone who has experienced this knows that the loss quickly grows larger than the wallet itself. The red tape loomed ahead, canceling cards, changing automatic payments, contacting insurance providers, dealing with the state to restore a license. And hovering over it all was the nagging fear: Was it simply lost… or stolen?

The first night after realizing it was gone, sleep did not come easily. I prayed, searched my memory, and worried. My octogenarian recall was not much help, and I knew the stress was affecting my wife as well. Anxiety and self-reproach became familiar companions. I wrestled with scenarios, regrets, and what-ifs.

In the midst of this, Scripture quietly pushed its way into my thoughts. I thought of the widow’s mite, and again in the temple how Jesus noticed not the size of the gift, but the heart behind it. Her offering was small in the world’s eyes, yet precious to God. I also was reminded of the father of the prodigal son, whose heart was not measured by fairness or proportion, but by love. He rejoiced over what was lost and then found.

Those stories reminded me that God does not measure concern the way we do. God’s care is not divided into “important” and “unimportant” losses. The same Lord who holds the brokenhearted close also notices the sparrow that falls, and yes, even a misplaced wallet.

Then came the quiet grace of the answered prayer. The last time I used my wallet was at our Christmas Eve service, as I reached into my pocket to give a few dollars to the children’s noisy offering, my must-have wallet slipped out. Unnoticed by me, it had fallen to the floor beneath my pew. There it had been all along present in the very place where I had been praying, singing, and worshiping. After several days of frustration, I had all but given up. Whatever caused my dear wife to insist we return to church to search was a prayer answered.

My anguish was answered not with drama, but with gentleness. This experience did not minimize the greater losses others carry, nor did it elevate my own. Instead, it reminded me of a simple truth at the heart of our faith: God cares, fully and personally, for all who come to Him. Our prayers are not ranked by size or severity. We are invited to bring our whole lives before God, our grief and our gratitude, our heartbreak and even our misplaced wallets.

In Christ, nothing entrusted to God is too small to matter.

Lord’s Peace, Craig 

Prayer God of light and revelation, you seek what is lost and make yourself known in quiet ways. In this season of Epiphany, open our eyes to see your presence-in moments of restoration, hope, and grace. Comfort those who carry deep loss, steady those who feel anxious or unsettled, and remind us that nothing we place in your hands is too small for your care. Guide us as your people, that we may reflect your light and share your compassion through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.