Over the course of the past sixteen hours, I’ve had a crash with God that’s left me reeling in shock and amazement.
I was sitting alone on the couch in the living room I share with my roommates at about one thirty in the morning. I had Facebook chat open with my friend Monique, but she was busy so we weren’t sure we were going to be able to chat that night. I was playing a game of mahjong online as well, and because I was in one of those easily irritable and over-analytic moods of mine, along with being extremely tired from not having gone to bed before two since Thursday last week, I was a complete crab. This is the part, I think, where you ask me why I didn’t go to bed like I should have, and this is the part where I inform you I was entirely too restless to go to bed. My mind was going from place to place to place to place, and I was freaking out about things I didn’t need to, getting super self-conscious, and wanting to retreat all of me into my tightly closed shell and never speak to anyone again. Irrational, I know, but at nearly two in the morning with very little sleep in the past week, a complete freakout of my entire life and wanting to shut myself away seemed quite reasonable.
But God started whispering softly, “Let it go. Acknowledge your pain, your brokenness. Open those tightly closed fists of yours. When your heart broke, daughter, all those years ago, Mine did too. Let it go, and let Me have it.”
I started to tear up, and it was the greatest relief when the dam finally smashed apart and I started crying. They were the tears I’d been too “strong” to let fall when they should have. Their appearance meant reopening a wound, but then healing. My initial breaking had started, finally.
It continued this morning, when I awoke with a feeling I’ve never had before, and with pottery on the mind from last night and this morning, due to a pottery project I’m currently doing in one of my classes, God gave me a sudden epiphany in the following words.
“You’re clay. You don’t have the stone heart you thought you did. You aren’t the stoic cynic you pretended to be. You’re clay. Hard clay right now, but clay nonetheless. Drink of My water, and you can be molded. Let Me mold you.”
If clay doesn’t have water, it gets hard and cracks. Similar to stone. Once you water it, it gets soft enough that you can mold it.
If you or I or anyone else don’t drink of the living water, our hearts get hard and crack. Similar to stone. We might even think they are stone. But once we start drinking–once we begin to partake of that cool, refreshing drink Jesus will give to any who ask–our hearts get soft, and God can mold them.
I had forgotten to drink of that water.
God’s answer to the one dream in my life has always been, “Wait.” The one time I tried to jump ahead of Him, the dream I’d constructed in my mind shattered. I imagine God shaking His head, crying for me, wondering, “Why didn’t she wait? Why couldn’t she just wait?” And me, trying to hold myself together, forgetting God’s answer, and thinking there was no answer at all. Building a stone wall so nobody could see the dreams I held, so if another dream shattered, nobody would know. Building a stone ceiling, so no castle could rise too high in the air.
I realized yesterday God is still saying, “Wait.” But for the first time in my life, I’m excited about that wait. I’m excited about drinking the water, and letting Him mold me, letting Him write my story. I tried writing it and failed miserably. I’ve realized the best way to avoid another of those episodes is to give Him the pen, not try writing myself into a less ambitious person like I did after the initial fail.
I’m thinking there’s gonna be a great story about this simple girl, if she just keeps her hands off the pen, her focus on drinking that water, and her heart chasing after God’s.