There was nothing special about the penny.

It was scratched, dull, half-buried in the dirt like so many I’d passed before. This time, however, I paused. I bent down, brushed it off, and, more out of habit than anything else, I slipped it into my pocket. But as I stood, a quiet thought surfaced:

What if this was an invitation? 

What if this ordinary coin was a simple, sacred prompt to pray — to turn my heart toward God right here in the middle of my errand-running, list-making, everyday life?

That moment started something. Since then, every coin I spotted on the sidewalk or in a parking lot became a sacred signal. A penny meant: pause and pray. Just one moment to look up, breathe deep, and remember that God is always near — even here, even now.

At first, it was simple. I’d pray for the first person I saw after picking up the coin. A stranger in the parking lot, a neighbor checking the mail, a cashier behind the counter. I didn’t know their stories, but God did. So, I’d whisper, Be near, Lord. Let them know they’re not alone.

Later, the practice shifted. I began looking at the year stamped on the coin and letting it guide my prayer, thanking God for something meaningful that happened that year . . . or asking Him to heal something that still felt unfinished. A few of those dates brought tears. Most sparked gratitude. All drew me closer to God.

I never set out to build a habit, but the habit found me. Every coin became a reminder to slow down and see not just the world around me, but the God who walks beside me.

Eventually, I started collecting the pennies in a jar because I loved to remember. Each coin marked a moment I chose connection over hurry, presence over distraction. The jar became a visual record of the many times I’d found God in the dust and pavement of everyday life.

One day, I’ll use what’s in the jar — not just to remember my sacred practice, but to bless someone else. Maybe I’ll donate the pennies to a ministry I love, or convert the coins into a gift card, tucking it into an envelope with a note for someone who needs to know they’re seen.

I have a feeling God has a creative plan for this, too. Because the point isn’t to merely collect — it’s to give. That’s always been the rhythm of grace: God meets us, and we get to pass it on.

This practice has also reshaped how I see prayer. I used to think it had to be long or eloquent or tucked into quiet corners of the day. And, sometimes it is. But penny-jar prayers are different. They’re short. Spontaneous. Often unfinished. They remind me that prayer doesn’t begin with having the right words — it begins with having a responsive heart.

Collecting pennies taught me that prayer isn’t always about asking or explaining. It can simply be noticing. It can be breath and stillness and thankfulness for nothing in particular. That realization softened a pressure I didn’t even know I carried. I never needed to sound spiritual. I just needed to show up with an open heart.

That’s what God invites us to bring. Not our polished perfection, but presence. Not performance, but participation. The penny jar sits on a shelf in my studio now. Every few days, I find another coin on the ground, and the practice begins again. I look up. I pray. I remember.

Maybe you don’t find coins like I do. But perhaps there’s something else that catches your eye — a feather, heart shapes everywhere you look, a number that keeps appearing.

What if that’s your invitation? What if God is using something small to invite you into something sacred?

A shell on the shore. A verse that keeps repeating. A song you can’t shake. These small things aren’t distractions — they might be invitations.

You don’t have to chase God down. You just have to notice when He draws near. You don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to be in the right place. You just need to be willing to notice.

Because God really is near.
Even here. Even now.

LISTEN to today’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!

Leave a Comment