Sitting
here thinking about what the stories of our life would be like if we
could take a magic eraser to the the marks wounds and bruises of life.
As we erased the eraser itself would discinegrate along with the
troubles and trials we try to say good bye to.
It is not like
that though. If we were so easily able to erase all the things we
didn't like there would be no room for growth and strength
as well as the character needing molded. We would not be pulled
stretched and pounded to become something beautiful. Essentially we
would be a soggy useless clump of clay lying in its own puddle of
sorrow.
We must be willing to not just be wiped away and
covered over but dug up, thrown down, kneaded and beaten, before we can
begin to have the masters gentle hands begin to cup around us smoothing
out the rough edges while he builds us up.
The work however,
does not stop there. Once formed he lets us sit rest and catch our
breath knowing he is not finished with us. There are better things
coming but not without out pain and sorrow and a lot of heat. In order
for our pots to be perfected in beauty and be used they must be fired in
the refiners fire. It is there in all of the heat of life when we
wonder how much we can withstand and if the cracks have all been sealed
or if we will crack some more.
But the masters knows his work
and the beauty he is bringing about no matter how painful the process
is. It all cannot happen without be willing to not erase but embrace
the trials of life. Just a lump of clay is not all that beautiful. The
real beauty comes from being walked on, picked at, dug at, and beaten
down before being chosen to be used.
Magic erasers would only
rid our lives of the ugly dirty clump of mud that seems to offer
nothing. The dirty spots of life that come with cracks and shattered
pieces. We can truly be thankful we are not the master or have easy
acess to the magic erasers to life.
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