I hate being wet unless I’m taking a shower. I don’t really prefer pools, melting snow, or rain. There is nothing worse–nothing–than being soggy. My whole attitude goes south and I feel ladden, desperate to get the icky feeling away from my skin.
So, the rain of life has always been a bit of a crisis for me. The burden, the sense of being pressed on and weighted down by the “when it rains it pours” pulls me down into depression. I have thrown real tantrums, kicking and screaming–you know, amplified why me’s as I am pummeled by the drip-drop then torrential downpours of struggle life.
I have asked God often, insistent that God mold me into what God intended for me to be–not really knowing anything about potters and clay and the fine art of scuplting. I didn’t realize that in order for clay to be molded, water had to be applied liberally to make the material soft and pliant. I had no clue how many times the artist might smash the clay altogether after finding an imperfection that would mar the final product. I didn’t understand the dizzying rate at which the clay was spun so that it would not fall off the wheel. I never knew how much kneading and knuckling and poking went into shaping the raw stuff even as more water was applied to smooth it out, force it into the perfect shape.
I did not know then what I know now.
When you ask God to shape you, you better understand what you’re asking for. And even then, until the process begins, you will have no idea what the molding will require for you. How much spinning, smushing, watering, poking, and squeezing.
Being a work of art is a process. Are you ready?