I think I forgot, Father, that this was never supposed to be about me. That I wanted to tell stories, but I wanted to tell Your story most of all. That is what it needs to be about. You. Your plan. Your story.
And all I want to do is be a part of it with you. To add my little efforts to the grand design that shouts Your glory. I will stand alongside and shout. I will scream until my voice runs dry and I will lift my hands until my arms have no more strength.
Because this is my prayer: to be part of Your story. To be but a simple sentence woven into the tale, a paragraph, a phrase on the pages of the world that You are still writing.
You are the end and the beginning, You are and will be and have been. And my mind and my heart cannot even begin to comprehend Your vastness, and Lord if I were to behold Your glory it would leave me blind.
yet here I am, chasing the sun.
I am but a jar of clay and if that simple clay has any beauty to behold that’s because the Potter has generous hands. Because the truth is this:
I am mud.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We came from mud and we will be mud and somehow I forgot because I have hands and feet. I am still mud.
But You have shaped a jar of clay and taken the greatest treasure of all time and hidden it inside a body made of mud, that Your glory may be known beneath the broken. that Your story may be told.
And I am muddy hands and muddy heart and mud isn’t worth much until You make it something and my words aren’t worth much unless You are in them.
Because if what You want of me is a single line on a single page of Your everlasting story –
I am mud in Your hands.
today’s 31 days post is about story as part of my (in)courage writers group. we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled begging for prompts tomorrow, so hit me up @hannahboning if you want to give me a word.