Who were you when you were young?

Dig deeper.

That’s it. Down you go.

Deep beneath the layers of who you think you should be, how you see yourself; beneath the image you’ve worked so hard to fashion with your hands.

There you are.

I see you.

Do you remember who you were when you were young?

I remember who I was.

The girl who loved to make. The girl with big ideas.

I remember taking handfuls of feathers from a hole in my parent’s quilt; I knew it was wrong so I hid them in a mint green container under their bed. I was going to make wings. I had figured out the secret of flight and I bade my time until I had enough feathers to carry my weight.

I made magazines and books and bought big handfuls of rubber bands from the local newsagency. I created my own printing press. Blank paper was a gift; a limitless canvas upon which I could create worlds and dreams and adventures. I drew and coloured and folded for the sheer joy of it.

Who were you?

Did you know that we are God’s poem?

That the very fabric of our being is infused with His purpose, with His plan?

For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art],

created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed,

renewed, ready to be used] for good works...

Abba does not write His story with a pen: His story is told on human flesh. Love written on palms; on dust, breathed to life.

His redemption is written on hearts, once stone, now soft and warm and responsive to His touch.

It's so easy for us to forget who we are.

To try and shape ourselves into something we think we ought to be.

Do we forget that we are dust?

Abba doesn't.

Just as a father loves his children, So the Lord loves those who fear and worship Him For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.

I wonder what it would feel like to stop trying so hard....to be comfortable in our own bodies once more, as we were when we were children.

What would it feel like to live messy and let Him parent us; filling in the gaps, leading us with His gentle voice, making something beautiful out of the clay of our being?

I breathe in, I breathe out.

I feel my humanness today.

I watch the rain sprinkle on the deck, making it shiny.

The world is very still and quiet today.

And I remember.

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