Recently, I have been doing my morning devotionals through Beth Moore’s Whispers of Hope. It’s a beautifully written book intended to guide and refine your practice of prayer. Yesterday morning, Moore wrote something that has really resonated with me ever since. It’s a nice reminder of how small we are and how great God is, and I thought I would share it with you all:
Had you been a spectator during only the first three days of creation, you might not have judged it as good. What good are seed-bearing plants with no sun for photosynthesis? In His wisdom God knew the work was good because He knew what was coming next. He knows what’s coming next for you. That’s why He can judge His work in you as good.
Wow. Is that not incredible?? Sometimes we forget that while our immediate circumstances might seem unpromising, God has a plan far more beautiful and greater than we could ever imagine. He can see beyond our worries and trials because His perspective is far more advantageous than ours.
Deuteronomy 32:4 says that “He is the Rock; his deeds are perfect. Everything he does is just and fair. He is a faithful God who does no wrong; how just and upright he is!” In His perfection, God created the seed-bearing plants and designed them with a specific purpose in mind. If His work is reflected in such an intricate way through something as simple as a plant, just imagine how greatly His work is reflected through us.
After concluding a fun hiking trip with some of my best friends, I slip off my muddy shoes and realize the obvious but strangely mind-blowing fact that these shoes have been places.
Once upon a time, my shoes were manufactured with an intent and a purpose. When it gets down to it, I place my shoes on my feet to do what they’re ultimately intended to do: protect. They defend my vulnerable extremities from the unfriendly earth, from the mud and the rocks and the dirt. They absorb the impact created when I walk down gravel pathways or across paved streets.
In fulfilling this purpose, my shoes become not only a means of protection, but also an agency of narrative. Take my Nike running shoes for example. Once gleaming white with vibrant colors, they are now scuffed, tattered, and mud-stained. These marks represent a multitude of both careless stumbles and intentional steps derived from past experiences and excursions. They are a medium through which my stories may be told.
I’m not saying that these marks are necessarily attractive. In fact, they are almost the exact opposite. (I sneakily cropped my Nikes out of my most recent Instagram post if that tells you anything.) But if I have learned anything in the past few days, it is that life, and shoes for that matter, can and will get ugly. You get scuffed up. You stumble and fall and have no other option except to pick yourself up and persist and push through the grime and the rough patches.
But the scratches and imperfections you obtain are tangible evidence that you have experienced something. They tell of an imperfect yet beautiful story, and that means substantially more than you think.
In response to the prompt Write Here, Write Now from The Daily Post.