By Jennifer Greene Sullivan
I woke up at 1:53 a.m. Saturday morning, my mind restless and my heart unsettled.
After reading James chapter 3, I could not shake the weight of my own words—the ones spoken too quickly, too carelessly—-the ones without love. So I slipped quietly into the bath, turned on worship music, and sat with the Lord. The lyrics echoed what my spirit already knew: “There’s no waste at the altar… He can use anything.”
So, I brought Him everything.
I repented of a slanderous tongue and a rebellious heart. I found myself asking a hard question: Have I truly been giving Him everything—or just what feels comfortable? The truth surprised me. Bitterness had crept in quietly, and I had allowed it to stay.
James reminds us, “The tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things” (James 3:5, ESV). In the Lord’s loving correction, I felt the weight of that truth. Later that day, I thought about a conversation I had with Liam.
I had asked him after a baseball game, “Are you even trying?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, almost confused by the question. From where I stood, it looked like he wasn’t.
During this conversation, we sat together at the dinner table. He reached for my hand and said, “Mama, I am struggling in the outfield, but I don’t want to be.”
When I asked why, his answer stopped me.
“Because of my color blindness, I can’t see the ball in the grass. It’s like white on white. I can see the ball in the dirt, though. So, I’ll just get better at playing infield.”
Just like that, he shifted. No self-pity. No quitting. Liam smiled while holding my hand with a quiet determination to adjust and to move forward.
Then, I realized—I had misjudged him.
How quickly I had formed a judgment without understanding his struggle. From my perspective, it looked like a lack of effort, but in reality, he was navigating something I could not see. At that moment, I wondered how many times I have done the same thing—with others, and even with God.
Graciously, my son became my teacher.
How often have I done the same thing with the Lord? How often have I misunderstood what He is doing because I could not see clearly? My own spiritual vision has been clouded at times—my own kind of blindness.
Scripture tells us, “If I… have not love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2, ESV).
All the effort, all the words, all the striving—without love, it is empty.
In the early hours that Saturday, I remained, giving it all back to Him—my words, my pride, my blind spots, and my failures. Ultimately, there truly is no waste at the altar.
God does not discard what we surrender; He redeems it.
Even now, I am learning that growth does not always come through strength. Sometimes, it comes through discipline. Sometimes, it comes through sleepless nights and honest repentance.
Sometimes, it comes through the quiet wisdom of a child who refuses to give up.
Now as I continue to grow in my faith, I don’t want to be known as someone who simply strove hard.
I want to be known as someone who loved–and loved well–because torn wings can still fly when love leads the way.
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