Your Grain Offering

Making Space for God in the Middle of Everything

This week, our Bible study is walking through Leviticus 1:1–6:7. I’ve been sitting specifically with Leviticus 2—the grain offering. At first glance, it might seem like a list of ceremonial ingredients and ancient instructions. But when I slowed down, I realized: this chapter isn’t just about flour and oil—it’s about me. About us. About the way we meet God in the middle of our real, messy, busy lives.

Whether you work full time, stay home with kids, or carry a bit of both—your days are packed. Maybe you’ve thought, “I don’t even have time to meet with God, let alone study Leviticus.” But what if God is meeting you right there in your routine, using your daily life as an altar?

Leviticus 2 gives us four sacred elements of the grain offering:

Flour. Oil. Frankincense. Salt.

Each one speaks not just of worship back then—but of how we can worship now.

This is what the Lord has been speaking to my heart—and maybe to yours too.

Flour — The Offering of Your Daily Life

There are days you wake up already behind.

The sink is full. The inbox is full. The baby’s crying. The meeting is starting. Your coffee’s gone cold, again. Whether you’re at home raising kids, out working long hours, or trying to do both, it feels like your whole life is being poured out for everyone but God.

You love Him. You do. But where is the time?

Maybe what you’re really asking is: “How can I worship a spiritual, invisible God when I barely have time to breathe?”

And into that ache, God whispers a story. Not a new one—but one buried deep in Leviticus, in flour and oil and incense and salt. A story not about altars built with stone, but altars built in kitchens, offices, laundry rooms, and playgrounds.

It’s the story of the grain offering—and it’s your story, too.

In Leviticus 2, the grain offering begins with fine flour. Flour didn’t come easy. It was harvested, threshed, ground, sifted, and refined. It took time. Labor. Hands. And that’s the point.

Flour represents your daily grind—your work, your routines, your schedule, your caregiving, your to-do list. You don’t need to leave those things behind to find God. They are your offering.

“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice… this is your spiritual worship.” —Romans 12:1

“Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” —1 Corinthians 10:31

When you fold laundry with a prayer on your lips, answer an email with grace, or stop to kiss a scraped knee—that’s flour. That’s worship. That’s sacred.

You’re offering the flour of your life, and He sees it.

Oil — The Presence of His Spirit

But flour alone wasn’t enough. God told them to mix the flour with oil—symbol of the Holy Spirit, of joy, of divine empowerment.

And here’s the beauty: God doesn’t ask you to do any of this alone.

You’re not baking bread for Him with dry hands and an empty soul. His Spirit is the oil that softens, empowers, and anoints your everyday. In the quiet between chaos, He’s there. When you feel peace in the middle of your storm, that’s His anointing. When you hold your tongue, forgive first, or love harder—that’s not you. That’s Him.

“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit,” says the LORD. —Zechariah 4:6

Even when you don’t feel Him—He’s present, like oil worked into dough: hidden, but essential.

Frankincense — The Fragrance of Worship

They were also told to add frankincense—a fragrant resin from a pierced tree. It symbolized worship, prayer, and delight.

Not loud, performative worship. Just… adoration. Longing. Trust.

You may not be lighting incense in your home, but maybe you’re whispering prayers while washing dishes. Maybe you turn up worship music during the school run. Maybe, just maybe, your tears themselves rise to heaven like incense.

“Let my prayer be counted as incense before You…” —Psalm 141:2

“Through Him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise…” —Hebrews 13:15

When your heart aches toward God, that is frankincense. When your affection is pointed heavenward, no matter how weary or worn, that is a pleasing aroma.

Salt — The Covenant in the Ordinary

Finally, God commanded: “Do not let the salt of the covenant be missing from your offering.” (Leviticus 2:13)

Salt preserves. It purifies. It represents faithfulness.

God is a covenant-keeping God. And when you stay faithful—in the hidden, repetitive, unnoticed acts of love—you’re salting your life with holiness.

“Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt…” —Colossians 4:6

“You are the salt of the earth…” —Matthew 5:13

That moment when you choose kindness instead of resentment?

Salt.

That moment when you open your Bible instead of scrolling?

Salt.

That moment when you forgive again, serve again, love again?

Salt.

You are keeping covenant—not because you’re perfect, but because He is.

How Do You Know If You’re Doing It Right?

Maybe that’s still the question echoing in your soul. I know it was mine!

The answer? You know you’re offering your grain when:

• You sense purpose in the mundane.

• You feel nudged toward love, even when tired.

• You long for God more than you did before.

• You notice grace spilling out of you when you didn’t plan for it.

And even when you don’t feel any of those things—when your heart is dry and your spirit tired—you’re still doing it right when you simply show up. Because the grain offering didn’t require emotional highs. It required surrender.

And that’s what this is.

Why Leviticus Still Matters

God didn’t include these details just to preserve ancient rituals. Leviticus is a book about drawing near to a holy God. It shows us that worship was never meant to be confined to temples and tabernacles. Worship was always about relationship, about bringing our whole selves—our work, our provision, our devotion, and our loyalty—before the Lord.

And now, through Jesus, we don’t offer flour and oil on a bronze altar—we offer our lives as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1). Leviticus 2 becomes a picture of what it means to worship with every moment of our day.

So don’t skip over the grain offering like it’s just ritual—it’s showing you what worship looks like in real life.

Your everyday tasks, your effort, your prayers, your steady faithfulness—they matter.

God sees what you offer, even when no one else does.

He meets you in it, strengthens you through it, and calls it worship.

This is what it looks like to live your faith in the middle of your real life.

This is your grain offering.

And yes—it still counts.