“Ask, and it will be given to you . . . For everyone who asks receives.” (Mt. 7:7–8).
I’d built my entire prayer life around this verse, constantly petitioning God for more. More strength when I felt weak. More patience when I felt irritated. More faith when I doubted. Always more.
But I’d been reading that verse backward. The radical truth is that He already gives me more grace than I could ever need. He gives it constantly, abundantly, without reservation. So why do I still feel spiritually famished, always needing to ask for more?
The answer is simple and yet profound.
I ask for more because I don’t know how to receive what’s already given. Because I block His love. Because I’m the barrier to receiving “more.” Not Him.
The Holy Spirit made this startling idea clear to me one morning with a simple prompt: “What did your children do to deserve your love?”
Those of us blessed with children know the answer intimately: Nothing.
Can my children earn more of my love? Of course not. I love them with every fiber of my being, and my love neither grows nor diminishes. Not because it’s stagnant, but because I give one hundred percent of myself to them, all the time.
Then came the revelation that changed everything: the love I have for my children is but a candle to His blazing sun. Like my children, I did nothing to earn His love, and nothing I do could make Him love me more or less. Not even my worst sins diminish His love. How could they, when His love is infinite, eternal, all-encompassing, given freely without reserve?
The consequences of receiving or rejecting His love are evident in my own parenting: when my children lean on my help and guidance, they flourish. When they distance themselves, they struggle. The same is true for me with God.
Yet knowing this truth, I still find myself begging for additional portions. Why can’t I seem to get out of my own way?
Could be countless reasons. Selfishness. Pride. Ego. Or maybe it’s because I know I’m broken, that I’m a sinner, and somewhere deep inside I believe that means I’m only worthy of a fraction of His grace.
But those are just lies I tell myself.
The real barriers became painfully clear during a trip to New York City. Three times the Lord spoke clearly to me: to help a homeless man lying motionless on the sidewalk, to give food or water to two men huddled under an awning in the rain, to offer my umbrella to an elderly woman using her jacket for cover during a downpour. Three times I walked past, did nothing. The Lord was giving me opportunities to be His hands and feet, pouring out His grace through me, but fear blocked me. Fear of being attacked. Fear of not having enough. Fear of losing comfort. I had His grace available, but my barriers prevented me from receiving and channeling it.
Like sunlight that’s always shining, God’s grace is continuously available. We can close the curtains or turn away from it, but the light never stops streaming forth. God respects our freedom even while constantly offering His love and strength.
As St. Augustine wrote: “It is the grace of God that helps the wills of men; and when they are not helped by it, the reason is in themselves, not in God.”
Still, during my morning prayers, I kept returning to the same plea: “God, give me more strength. More faith. More courage.” Always more. But as I meditated on Scripture— “Seek first the kingdom of God,” “Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind and strength” —I began to understand why I felt so spiritually hungry despite His constant provision. I was treating God like a divine vending machine, asking for individual graces—a little patience here, some wisdom there—instead of seeking Him entirely.
I’d been asking for more ingredients when He was offering the entire feast. I wanted more drops of grace when I was already standing in the ocean. The problem wasn’t supply; it was my fragmented approach to receiving. Instead of opening myself completely to Him, I was holding out a thimble and asking it to be refilled again and again.
So going forward, instead of asking, “God, please give me more,” I’m learning to pray “Help me receive what you’re already pouring out, Lord.”
And when I made that shift—when I finally learned to receive—something unexpected happened. I became a channel rather than a container. I was no longer content to hold grace for myself but let it flow through me to others, the way He intended when He kept pointing me toward those who needed help in New York.
That’s the transformation from asking for more to receiving what’s already ours:
All of His grace.
All of Him.
Photo by Malachi Cowie on Unsplash
