Molding

It takes a lot of work. Especially when the playdoh is dry and crusty. It tears easily, is hard to flatten, and a nuisance to work with. As I watched the two year old I babysit work with his temperamental dough, I thought about how frustrating I must be to God. He's got a specific purpose for me. I know it. It's not just some song or a good feeling; it is a promise. One that so many people around the world have realized and been so content in finding. And God's got like the motherload of all playdoh kits. It's not like we're divided up star-circle-rectangle-square-triangle-heart, the end. He's got all sorts of shapes and sizes and personalities and accents and missions and purposes. People just weren't meant to be the same. On one level, yes. We all should have the same basic rights and respects. But on another level we are so different. It's one of the best things about His craft-- each and every one has a unique purpose and gift to live it out. 

Unlike playdoh, though, we aren't mindless colorful dough sitting around, waiting to be made pretty and perfect.  We have brains and choices. We have to chose to be moldable. And when we aren't actively making that choice, we get crusty. We're so very resistant to being flattened out, humbled, if you will. We say we've got it together, we like how we are just fine. A blob. Still a pretty color, sometimes on our way to looking good because He's had us for a little bit. Then we put up a fight and He puts us down. Not abandoned, just to the side because we kicked and screamed and He's waiting. And we dry out. All the sudden when I do decide to ask for His help, I find myself backtracked a bit. Because I could already be a beautiful, purposeful design. But right now I'm a hardened piece of dough that needs the warmth of His hands and the power of his knead to once again be moldable. It's a place of frustration in knowing that I can't do it myself, but a place of satisfaction in knowing that He can work on me. I'm not doomed to be a dried up ball of playdoh, but I've got to call on His hands to work. Lord, I'm asking you to work. Reach into your motherload of a collection of shapes and tools and begin again with me.