The anxiety pulls at me, yanking me, wearing me down. The ugly step-sister of joy, she tries to lead me down a destructive path. And I am worn and tired, wondering was there any faith there to begin with? Who’s that woman that said “yes” to all this chaos? Where is she that welcomed the stretching, the loneliness? The girl that was convinced that it’s worth it- was that me?
Some days, the stretching feels unbearable. My arms cannot spread any wider. And I think of silly putty, a child’s toy. You pull it out of plastic egg and pull, stretch, roll it into a ball. And then you put it away, back where you found it. And forget about it. Is this what I’ve become? He pulls me out, stretches me, and then puts me back, weaker than I was before, alone.
Yet, I’ve come this far and He’s been good and I’ve been cared for. So I move past the silly putty thinking because I know that’s not His way.
And so I do the only thing I know left to do- I hit the deck. On my knees is where the anxiety ends and the only thing pulled is my heart toward heaven. And the Father whispers again, “I am near.” And I remember those that have gone before me, some of whom never saw what they were promised, and yet they persevered. They became like clay in the hands of the Father. Something familiar sounds. Wait, haven’t I prayed this before? “Lord, I am the clay, and you are the Potter. Mold me as you see fit.” Perhaps I am simply seeing a prayer answered.
Hope turns its face toward me. And I am surprised and humbled by this reminder. That He molds, smoothes, refines, breaks off, and adds onto.
And forms something beautiful.
And, ahh, I can breathe again. The jungle feels doable. The loneliness will pass. And yes, I was right the first time- it’s worth it. He is worth it. Beauty comes after the stretching and even in the waiting. And I submit myself to the Pot-Maker once again, putting myself under the mercy of His craftsmanship.