Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Touch of the Master’s Hand

This is the front of my Mother's Day card from my parents.
I love it when God opens my eyes and gives me a glimpse of my journey. I love it when He shows me just how blessed I truly am.
Last night I found myself once again on my deck (it’s my special place, where I go sometimes to talk to God), looking for answers and searching my heart. Sometimes I go there just to cry. Those are the times when I’m overwhelmed with all of life’s pressures and heartaches and I don’t know what to do, but I’m so thankful God understands the tears of my heart. Sometimes I go there to pray for those burdening my heart. And sometimes, I just have a feeling that God wants to talk to me.
It helps me to get away from everything during those times. When I open my back door and step outside, it’s as if I’m leaving all of the things of the world inside. On my deck, it’s just me and God. And when I go to Him from my heart, He’s always waiting for me.
He always knows what I need. He’s my answer to every prayer and He’s everything to me. Last night, He took me by the hand and reminded me of the person I used to be. He showed me how He has molded me for His honor and glory.
I remembered the little girl who cried every night and begged God to heal her scared hands. I remembered the girl who hated summer, open toed shoes and sleeveless shirts because they revealed the scars she tried so desperately to hide. I remembered the girl who was afraid she would never fall in love or find anyone to see beyond her scars. I remembered the girl who almost denied herself the opportunity to have children because she was so afraid they would have her scars. I remembered the girl who begged God to give her something, anything to allow her to help others. I remembered how she held her head down in public and tried to blend into her surroundings. I remembered how she wanted so desperately for people to like her and how she feared they never would.
I remembered how it felt the first time I ever held a pen and recorded God’s words. I remembered the power and the fear. I remembered the fear of rejection and the power of accepting my scars. I remembered how it felt to step out in faith not knowing what would happen, but believing God would see me through it all.
I love it when God turns my heartaches into blessings and shows me the power of His greatness. I love it when He allows me to share those blessings.  
I love it when God reminds me that He didn’t curse me with scars, He blessed me with life. God blessed me with scars and limitations to remind me I need Him every moment of every day. God blessed me with heartaches so I could appreciate my blessings. God blessed me with my loved ones to brighten my life. God blessed me with strength and determination to show me how to fight for Him. God blessed me with rejection to show me how to believe in myself. God blessed me with the gift of words so I can tell everyone who will listen, how great He is to me.
And for the first time, since I started writing seven years ago, I believe I am good enough. Not because of anything good I have done, but because God has molded and prepared me for this my whole life. He said I’m good enough to do His work, when He saved me and gave me the first thought and word to record. He knows I will mess up. He knows I can’t do it on my own. He knows I struggle getting my thoughts out of the way and waiting on His spirit to move. He knows I’m not capable of writing anything to touch anyone’s heart. He doesn’t expect anything from me, but obedience and trust, anyway.
When He first gave me the gift to write, I had a million excuses as to why I couldn’t do the job He gave me to do. One by one He removed them all. Every time I think I can’t do this, I don’t know what to write I hear that still small voice speak to me and say— just tell them how great that I AM.
I love telling all of the wondrous ways God blesses my life. At first I worried about repeating myself, but God’s word is worth repeating. While I know that I am absolutely nothing, I’m so thankful that every once in a while God comes through and makes me look good.
A few weeks ago, I had lunch with Jordon’s second grade class. They all gathered around me with me their smiles, hugs, and infinite questions. As usual the conversation eventually drifted to my scars. When they asked me about my arm and hands, I didn’t allow it to affect me. I beamed my smile at them and told them tiny bands attacked me before I was born and tried to take my life, but God spared me and allowed me to live. I braced myself and tried to prepare for more questions, but what happened next, both surprised and touched me. They all started searching their arms and hands for scars the bands had left on them. They wanted and tried to convince me they had scars, too.
In that moment, God displayed His greatness. He reminded me that His beauty, which reflects from the inside out, is far more superior to anything the flesh may behold.  He allowed the children to see me before they ever saw my scars. He allowed my kindness to touch their hearts and prevail. He turned my once believed to be ugly scars, into something beautiful because everything God touches is transformed into a work of beauty.
I’m so thankful I was created and I am being molded by the wonderful Touch of the Master’s Hand.

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