I consider the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17, who was asked to give the last of her flour and oil to the prophet Elijah in the midst of a famine. When she did not have enough for herself or her son to survive through the next day, she chose faith and generosity, trusting that Elijah—that Elijah’s God—would provide for her in spite of her circumstance. Many days, I feel a kinship to that woman’s discouragement, though my existence is in no way so desperately threatened. To selflessly offer the dregs of an almost empty store of energy feels counterintuitive and scary. Beyond the revelation that I clutch tightly what I hold most dear, the invitation to follow the widow into openhandedness amplifies the underlying truth that I too am insufficient, that I need.