Consider an emperor, ruler of something like the Byzantine Empire. On a busy day, he can start or end wars, have cities founded or razed, while meeting with the kings and satraps and governors and generals chiefly involved. Great deeds.
But, at the end of the busy day, he retires to the royal family's private quarters. There is no ball or banquet tonight, so he, the empress, and their children can dine casually, gathered around the table like any family.
In the course of the meal, the youngest child says, "Papa, please pass the salt." And, with the hand that can cause war or peace, civilization or desolation with a wave, the emperor passes the salt.
Here is the point of this domestic anecdote: I have sometimes seen mocking posts or memes about the folly of theists praying to God about finding their car keys or passing a pop quiz. People who make such prayers may not have a profound grasp of theology, but then again they may have a better grasp than the mockers do.
The mockers' assumption is that our needs and doings are too unimportant for God (or would be if God existed; they are usually sure He does not). God is, or would be, too busy for us. But that is really to picture God as limited in a humanlike way. How can omniscience and omnipotence be "too busy" for anything, as if He had limited resources? Christ tells us God numbers the hairs on our heads and notes the fall of every sparrow. No doubt, he would tell moderns that his Father notes every least vibration of every quark and lepton.
Tolkien took care over the spelling of each word, English or Elvish; he did not only consider the plot outline. Rembrandt gave attention to each brushstroke, not just the composition as a whole. The emperor both passes the salt and manages the fate of nations.
We are told to pray for our daily bread. There's no reason we can't pray that those black spots on it are burnt crust and not mold.
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