Proverbs 30:8

This verse comes from a section of Proverbs attributed to a man named Agur — a figure we know almost nothing about beyond this single chapter. It's part of a personal prayer that is refreshingly honest and countercultural: Agur asks God for two things, honesty and enough. He doesn't request wealth, success, or security. He asks to be kept from deception — both telling lies and living them — and for just enough to get by: 'daily bread.' His reasoning, spelled out in the very next verse, is humble and self-aware: too little and I might steal; too much and I might forget I need God at all. It's one of the wisest prayers about money in all of Scripture.

God, I confess I rarely pray for 'enough' — I almost always pray for more. Give me Agur's wisdom today: keep me from dishonesty in all its forms, and teach me what it means to trust you for what I actually need rather than hoarding what I fear to lose. Amen.

Most of our prayers are quietly ambitious. We ask for healing, provision, open doors — and usually we mean *more* than we currently have. Agur's prayer is the strange inverse: 'Don't give me too much.' It almost sounds irresponsible, like turning down a promotion. But there's a ruthless self-knowledge here that should stop us. Agur knows what wealth does to him. He's watched what comfort does to a person's hunger for God. And he'd rather stay lean and awake than drift full and asleep. What would it look like for you to genuinely pray this prayer — not as a spiritual exercise, but meaning every word of it? Most of us are deeply uncomfortable with 'enough.' We want a buffer, a backup plan, a cushion against the worst-case scenario. None of that is wrong. But Agur's prayer gently asks: what exactly are you trusting your savings account to do for you that only God can actually do? The request for daily bread isn't a poverty mindset — it's an intimacy practice. It keeps you returning, every morning, to the one who gives it.