Most days I’m aware of my dustiness. This morning is no exception. I wake early after a half-slept night. My body groans as it faces the day. Today, so does my heart. Ever been there?
Limitations frustrate. But they also bear a reminder that sets free. Before I’m anything else, before I’m a doctor, a daughter, a friend, I am dust. Shaped of mud, a Hand-spun clay jar at once unique and easily broken. I am not built to carry the weight of the world. Another does that. I am made only to bear the light that is placed within me.
I’m dust. But not just any dust. Loved dust. The Heart that dreamed you, the Hand that shaped me, doesn’t forget our Breath-filled-clay beginnings. He doesn't forget that though we bear the dignity and glory of Image-bearers, we still wear the frailty of dust. He carries his fragile treasure gently, care-fully. In my transience and vulnerability, I discover myself loved. Forever.
This morning the reminder of my loved-ness came through a changed class schedule which fits my body’s current demands. Thank you, Gentle Potter, for loving these bits of dust in such tender and practical ways!
As a father has compassion for his children,
so the LORD has compassion for those who fear him.
For he knows how we were made;
(Ps 103:15-17 NLT)