You know so much about brokenness. My brokenness. And, it is a Monday morning and I’m starting out behind and Satan is telling me all about my sin and my shortcomings. All about how clay is worth nothing. It seems like he knows them better than even I do, Lord.
Last night’s Johnny’s is on the counter: cold hamburgers and fries growing greasier by the minute while the list of ‘to do’ grows longer than the laundry downstairs. The house smells like puppy because there is one living here now and a girl upstairs is coughing. Again. That’s just the surface stuff, Jesus. There is Johnny’s sitting on the shelves all the way down to my deepest soul.
So, would you tell me that I am okay because you are here? I know that I cannot do this right on my own. I can’t really mother my family or wife my husband or be a good friend or a salty Christ follower, or accomplish the right thing or any thing on that long list without me rooted properly in you today. But, you can put my world in order. You can direct the sunshine. You can. And, I give you free reign to do it.
Do in me what you need. Do with me what you need. Help me, Jesus, to be holy yours today.
There’s greenery growing around me now. Flowers here and there that came this weekend from sweet friends who made an effort to celebrate the day you birthed me. Lessons in nurturing, Lord? You know that my thumb is black. How many plants have I turned into shadows over the years? Yet, you do not give up on me. You keep sending me sunshine and greenery and friends and family and ministry. You allow me to grow, to flourish, grafted into your root system.
There’s that reminder, Lord, that KatyBeth’s mom sent me just when I needed it. A mom, a grandma, a woman of God fighting a war against cancer, and she finds the time, the energy, to put a reminder in the mail for a missionary in Hungary because you tickled her heart a month ago. Pro Nobis. Lord. God is for me. Sitting right there by the plants that KatyBeth and Karen and the Pervis family brought yesterday, new life pushing up from the dark, dead earth that is never really dead.
Yes, Lord, I am broken. We all are. But, you knew that when you scooped up dirt and moulded me together and set me in a garden. You knew who I could become and what I would become and all the in-betweens. You knew and you loved me. Not only loved but invested into and equipped for. I am yours, Lord. And Satan can whisper his ugly bullets and sometimes they wound but even the wounds become beauty marks in your hands, Jesus. Holy yours, Lord. Set apart to be perfectly all that you have called me to be today. Just today.
Pro Nobis. Oh Eternal Gardener. Oh Gentle Sculptor. I am your clay today. For with you, who can stand against us?