I thought about it a couple of months ago as I lay in the hammock in the backyard in the dark, shivering but not really caring it was cold. The stars popped out like chill bumps, and my heart grabbed hold again of just how tiny it was.

And if we let it … that feeling of littleness can be a very good thing. 


For a while now, on a lot of nights, a few minutes before we turn the lights off at our little coffeehouse, I grab as many gallons of milk as I can carry at one time and restock the refrigerator out front under the espresso bar. It happens all day long, but that’s the last one, the one that’ll wait for the morning crew to wake the place up in a few hours.

I like to dream that eventually that tiny daily act of moving milk is going to add up and give me guns.

Over days and weeks and months, it’s a lot of dairy.

I read somewhere once that a certain major coffee chain goes through so much milk in a year that it would take several minutes for it all to go over Niagara Falls. It feels like our little store on the edge of the highway could help prop that statistic up.

We fly through milk. And coffee beans. And people. And before I know it I’m loading up the fridges and turning the lights off again.

Mass latte production can make a single cup feel super little.

But this morning, as I sat with a cup squeezed between my hands, I thought about that. And I was okay with the littleness.

This morning, littleness is good.


It’s funny how, with so much in our human world craving to be big, there’s a tiny but roaring desire tucked in our heart to be little, if we’ll listen.

I thought about it a couple of months ago as I lay in the hammock in the backyard in the dark, shivering but not really caring it was cold. The stars popped out like chill bumps, and my heart grabbed hold again of just how tiny it was.

One latte dumped in Niagara Falls.

That’s me.

With littleness comes a lot of frailty, a lot of weakness and inadequacy … and sometimes fear and trembling. With it sometimes comes things like fear of the future, lack of control, guilt over past mistakes, fear of messing things up.

And sometimes that’s all I can hear. I’m little. And there’s so much that I can’t do right, can’t control.

But last night as I threw the last few cups away and locked up the coffeehouse, I thought about how littleness can be the best thing we can ever feel, if we feel it like it’s meant to be felt. It’s the feeling we get when we stand on the edge of the ocean, or the Grand Canyon, or on top of a mountain, the feeling of being overwhelmed by something larger than ourselves.

We don’t want to feel big in that moment. We want to feel small. Because small doesn’t remind us that we’re weak … it reminds us that someone else is dramatically, wonderfully, amazingly bigger.

And that’s the reality we not only feel but crave. There’s something bigger. And we want to walk right into the middle of it, see it, know it, have it consume us.

It’s that feeling, that knowledge, that makes us want to throw our hands wide open, our arms spread out, face down on the altar of the God who loves us. It says I’m little, but You’re incredibly big … and that’s what I want – I want You.

It’s the kind of littleness we’re designed to feel, the kind that makes our hearts come alive, the kind that makes us strong with a strength that doesn’t come from us.

It’s the kind we get when we walk to the edge of who God is and tell Him we want our hearts to know His incredible magnitude, that we want to be smaller, but we want Him to be bigger.

It’s the kind that makes our lack of control the best thing for us. It takes us to the edge of Niagara Falls, to the edge of something greater.

And overwhelmed, we plunge.


(@gracefortheroadblog on Instagram)


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6 Responses

  1. Hi Grace,
    My name is Aubrey and I’m a young single woman working overseas in East Asia. I’ve been following your blog since around the time I moved out here. I’m in my fifth year now, but two years ago an event happened that sent me drifting in uncertainty about the Father–not so much over whether he was real, but whether he was who I had thought he was. The last two+ years have been a long process of unraveling my understanding and paring it down to what I can know is true from the Word and what that means for my life. Your writing here has been so helpful throughout these years–both challenging and comforting me as I go through this process of confirmation and transformation. I of course got your book on kindle as soon as I could and read it slowly throughout the summer on busses and mountains, and everywhere, God was using your story to speak truth into my heart. I still feel like I’m in the middle of a sandstorm sometimes, but I am trusting that he is still with me and still worthy of my obedience, even when I don’t understand the tangle of threads on the back of my canvas. Thank you for sharing your experiences, fears, feelings, questions, and discoveries with us. I know it takes a tremendous amount of humility and courage to put yourself out there for so many to see, but I know God is already using your story in many people’s lives (and I know you must hear all the time that you are an incredible writer, but…dang, girl…).
    Thank you again for sharing bravely and challenging me to trust Him more, even when I’m trusting him differently than I planned. I’m so thankful to know that the same Word and Spirit that leads you daily is also given to me too. He is so, so good.

    1. Great to hear from you, Aubrey. You’re right … He’s SO GOOD. It’s so encouraging to hear what God’s doing in your life, pursuing you and showing you more of His truth all the time. Keep walking, friend … He’s never going to let you go.

  2. just received your book yesterday (yay, Amazon prime!) and am super excited to dig in. I just adore your blog and have been so blessed by your words and will continue to forward them on as I have been. praying your book and message reaches far and wide. ❤️

  3. Hi Grace…. Love your book…I read all the time, never in my 51 years have I ever felt the desire to drop a note to the author, and say just how much I enjoyed their book. Your the very first…

    I’m about to re-read it again.. You..C. S. Lewis, Louie Giglieo, Donald Miller, have been the only authors that I re-read.. Your in great company…

    I will be praying for you tonight when I read your book and before I go to bed…

    I love your heart…

    Kurt Wagenman..

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