Gathering my thoughts here, struggling to make sense of thousands of words bouncing around in my brain. Words like change, death, grace, goodness, endurance, darkness, peace and courage. How do I make sense as they are strung together like beads on a cord? How is something beautiful made from this crazy bunch of mismatched words that seem to clash? I certainly cannot make that happen. So I pour out my heart words, into the hands of my creator.
He watches as they fall one by one from the depths of my heart, where they have been building up. Love falls beside fear, hope crashes into weariness and so on. What will He do with these words? The echoes of my hearts deepest cries, the ache of my souls loudest whispers, the words my mind produces. He takes them one by one, and asks me to to do the same. And so… I hold “death,” a dark and ancient word, in my hand. Its surface is rough, causing pain with its jagged edges. And its appearance is dull no light reflects off of it, nor does the light penetrate its depths. I wonder where God, my creator, will string this bead, and how He will make it beautiful amongst the others. But, never the less, it is a large part of the many words that I have poured out for my maker to hold. He places “hope” into my hand to have a closer look at. It reflects the Father’s love. And shines a light of its own. It feels warm in my hand, and I think of the bright promises He has made to me when I look at it. It is not hard to see this bead making the strand beautiful. And I find myself wishing for several of these bright beads to out shine the sadder ones. But as it were, there are other words I have poured out to my Father. He calls my attention to one that looks like it is on fire inside. Just looking at it convinces me I am His. “Goodness,” has become one of my favorites. He has recalled this one time after time. Its flaming center, makes it stand apart from any of the others. It reminds me of Christ in me, and the hope of His glorious coming. God is making me keenly aware of all that I have poured into His capable hands, and so, He gently places into my hand, “fear,” “discouragement,” and “worry.” These have similar features to death. They are made of fragile ingredients and will easily crumble if exposed to tears and light.
Time after time, as I walk through each day, I see this brilliant strand of beads. All that is good and right and true, outshines the dull, lifeless and dark. I wear my strand and pray that in spite of the ugliness and dark places of my life, that the hope, love and goodness are all that can be seen. As the Maker of my heart, strings the words of my soul together in such a way that beauty far outweights the darker corners.