The Widow's Might* (An internal monologue)

I don’t know why I bother.
It’s not that I begrudge the gift, not really.
But it’s not as if this will help anyone else.
It won’t make a difference to anyone.
 
It’s almost ridiculous.
No, not true.
It’s not almost ridiculous.
It is ridiculous. Outright.
Almost delusional.
I hope no one sees.
I would be mortified if anyone noticed.
 
They might think I think my offering is worth something.
 
But what  can I do?
I can’t deny God.
This gift is the speech of my soul.
 
Everyone else gives so much.
The treasury bursts with the abundance of their gifts,
Each clink and clang testifies of their worth.
Mine is too small to make a noise.
 
What if they think I think my offering is worth something?

Still, I must give my gift.
I owe it to God. 
The debt is one I must pay.
 
Are they laughing at me?
Is that smirk directed my way?
It must be.
And they’re probably right.
 
I'm only a widow.
This is only a mite. 

*Spelling intentional.