Some days, the world just feels like too much.
Too much war.
Too much grief.
Too much injustice.
Too many systems that harm instead of heal.
And sometimes, too much noise in my own head.

I watch the news or sit with the pain of someone I love—or maybe I just scroll a little too long—and suddenly I feel it. That ache. That helpless, sinking feeling. Like I’m standing on the edge of something vast and chaotic, and I’m just… small. Like anything I could do wouldn’t matter. Like my voice is too quiet. Like my efforts are too fragile. Like I’m just one soul trying to stay upright in a storm too big to stop.

Have you felt it too?

There’s a deep helplessness that can settle in when we face the brokenness of this world with open eyes. When we truly see how much suffering exists. When we acknowledge how little control we actually have.

And yet, somehow, this smallness isn’t the whole story.

The Scriptures are full of people who felt small and overwhelmed. People who stood trembling before giants, or walls, or sea waves, or kings. People like Moses, who told God he wasn’t enough. Like Mary, who said yes to an unthinkable calling. Like the boy with a few loaves and fish, offering what seemed so meager in the face of so much need.

But over and over again, we see something remarkable: God never mocked their smallness. He never asked them to be more than they were. He simply asked them to show up with what they had.

Because small doesn’t mean insignificant.

Jesus said the Kingdom belongs to the poor in spirit. That faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains. That the last will be first. That the meek will inherit the earth. In God’s economy, smallness is not a problem—it’s a posture. A place where we can be honest, vulnerable, and open to grace.

When I feel helpless, I try to remember: I am not the Savior. I was never meant to carry the whole weight of the world. But I am held by the One who does. And He is not overwhelmed. Not surprised. Not out of options. He is near to the brokenhearted. He bends down to lift the weary. He sees even the sparrow.

Psalm 46 reminds us, “Be still and know that I am God.” That word still can mean “cease striving.” Let go. Unclench. Exhale. Trust.

So when I feel small, I try to do one small thing. Send one message. Offer one prayer. Make one meal. Sit with one person. That’s how love moves—small and steady, like yeast in dough or seeds in soil.

Maybe it’s okay to be small. Maybe that’s where God does His best work.