Matthew 13:12

Jesus speaks this sentence while explaining to his disciples why he teaches in parables rather than speaking plainly. His answer is surprising: parables open truth to those who are receptive and remain opaque to those who aren't. This verse expresses the spiritual principle beneath that dynamic — that understanding grows when it is received, engaged with, and used, but diminishes when it is ignored or refused. At first glance it sounds harshly unfair, like a cosmic game rigged in favor of the already-fortunate. But Jesus isn't describing divine favoritism. He's describing a law of spiritual attention: openness creates capacity for more; closure leads to the loss of even what seemed to be there.

Father, I don't want to sleepwalk through what you are offering me. Increase my appetite — my attention, my hunger, my willingness to actually sit with what you are saying instead of just nodding past it. What I have is a gift. Help me spend it well. Amen.

On first read, this sounds like a rigged game — the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and apparently God is fine with that. But notice what Jesus is actually describing: a law of attention, not of arbitrary reward. A musician who practices every day hears things in a piece of music that a casual listener simply cannot access — not because the music is being withheld, but because one person has built the capacity to receive it. The more you engage with what God is offering you — the small insight, the quiet nudge, the verse that won't leave you alone at midnight — the more you find yourself able to receive. And the inverse, which Jesus doesn't soften, is equally true. This verse has an uncomfortable way of landing when you've been coasting. Not in crisis, not in open rebellion — just not really engaged. Going through the motions on Sunday and forgetting about God by Tuesday. The question it leaves sitting on the table is not whether you've had a dramatic spiritual experience lately. It's simpler and harder than that: what are you doing with what you already have? The small deposits of grace, the truths you've already been shown, the faith you already carry — are you spending it, investing it, letting it grow? Or letting it sit untouched until it quietly disappears?