Sometimes I wonder what will be left when the Carpenter is finished. Sometimes it feels like my part in the display is to be the sawdust scattered across the floor. There’s such tension between being called and being humble. It seems the more I “feel” it, the less impact I have; the deader my heart, the more He moves.
I know His strength is made perfect in our weaknesses, but I don’t know how to find peace in my weakness. I don’t want to be sawdust. I don’t even want to be the workbench used to assemble the masterpiece. I’m no David with contentment at being His doorkeeper. No, not yet. This rebellious heart is Saul, fearing the people and assuming position.
It’s all very well and good to quote Paul and refer to his joy in lowliness, or to sing of Jesus the meekest one. The truth is, no matter how much I say I want it, a major part of me doesn’t. I don’t glory in weakness. I despise those parts of myself that are weak. I don’t embrace humility with a joy of promoting others. I dissect others and secretly gloat over the areas where I feel prettier/holier/more talented. Even recognizing the wretched ugliness in such an admission has not been enough to part company with this mirror-self. So He keeps sanding, and the cracks keep surfacing. Sanding? Chiseling, more like.
How do you hear the words that He has great dreams for you and not feel threatened when you are outshined and swept aside? How do you stand, or even kneel in pious acquiescence when the years slip into each other and you realize your illusions of grandeur are the very things that keep bringing down the sandpaper? It’s all about surrender, and the faster the better. If only it were as easy as making that simple statement. Unfortunately, the unrenewed mind likes traveling in familiar grooves and I don’t like the discipline required to push the off-switch. “Get up early to start the day with the Word? Every day? Me?” Awake, you self-indulgent sleeper.
They say it’s all about continuing to say “yes;” but the process is killing me–which, I guess is the point. Dead to self and alive to God. The very fact that I still wonder what I will have left–what piece of me will remain in the fragments–shows how far I have to go. What He wants is a vessel free from this sense of me.
Submission. Humility. Love. The more I try it seems the further I am from them. Where are these fruits that are supposed to mark my life? Have I lost the fruit in seeking first the signs?
God have mercy on me–I do not have the strength today to pray again, “break me.” He knows how much a heart can handle at once. Instead I bow my head… Precious Christ…I have need….