Between our yesterdays, what we were and what we are to become, between our failings and our perfection—is the place of being made. While I am certain that one day I will be who God has me to be, I am hardly comfortable with His means of my perfecting. I am not at ease with the kneading, the pressing, and the cutting. I often wonder why He will not leave me alone, why He won’t leave me to be what I might become. Then, as if shocked into consciousness I recall—He loves me.
He will not let me become just anything because He has plans for me, plans to prosper and not to harm. Instead of the hapless growth I conceive, He prunes me for hope and for a future. Between the yesterdays and the tomorrows, drawing them both together into one unique whole—is the Father’s love, the Son’s sacrifice and the Spirit’s tending. Because He loves me, what I might become is simply not good enough.
Make no mistake; it is the resistance of the clay that prolongs the becoming. There is no lack within the artist for His hands are strong. Should He press just a little more—I would be crushed. So His touch is tender and ever so gently He presses you and me. Over time, the once stubborn, wobbly, clay is centered and what was malformed begins to take shape.
While the clay resists, it works against its designer and against its own best interest. While we persist in our willfulness, in our rebellion or stubbornness, we work against our greater good. The truth is “no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for” we who love Him. We have barely an understanding of the few things we can affect. We have hardly any true understanding and yet, fist clenched, chin high, we demand that the Maker form us as we dictate.
At least this is my continual failing. I have my desires, wants, and perhaps even genuine needs my heart whispers in prayer at evening’s end. I have hopes and longings, dreams that will not leave me—even in the day. I have great ambition and want to be many things, many good things, some noble things. I want to be and do many things, but my reigning ambition is to be shaped into an instrument worthy of His name.
He loves me and the pressing of His hands is the expression of His love. It is the sign that He has not forgotten me. I may not know for what or into what I am being made but I rejoice to know—I am being made. Some things God speaks into being; others are shaped, made with His own hands. It is my good fortune to be made.
Jer. 29:11, 1Cor. 2:9, 2Cor. 1:22, 2Cor. 5:5, Eph. 1:13-14
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