Patient hands

I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; 

so the potter formed it into another pot, 

shaping it as seemed best to him. 

--Jeremiah 18:3-4

I spent a long time in the yard this morning, trying to get a jump on the weeds. It was almost too late already. 

In the middle of the primroses was a giant dandelion. Its leaves spread out bigger than a dinner plate, and shooting up from the middle were at least eight lovely puffballs of dandelion seed. 

Over alongside the house, the money plants were taking over. (No, money does not grow on trees or plants, not even in my yard.) These things look lovely when they bloom, straight-up spires with purple clusters of blooms about the size of pennies. But they are terribly invasive, and once the blooms depart, the seeds set on. Uh-oh.

And the thistles. Enough said about the thistles. 

Ugh.

I stood back and surveyed the landscape, trying to envision how lovely it could look if I just took the time to remove the things I found displeasing, then nurtured and cultivated what remained, the "good" parts of the garden.

I realized it is an ongoing project, never-ending. And that sometimes, even when I have carefully removed (I thought) all the dandelions-- I turn around and there is another one.

And I stopped and thought about-- me. And God, the master gardener in my life.

How often he must come into my life, look at me and think, "I thought, child, we took care of that last week. Why are we going through this--again?"

He prunes and he trims, pinches and polishes, till my life is pleasing-- and I turn around and go back (again) to the same way I was before the latest poke and prune.

That's where the similarity between these two gardeners ends.

Because after awhile, I look at this garden and am ready to throw up my hands in despair. No more! Call the asphalt company! Let's just pave over it. I can't stand it any more!

Thankfully, God is not that way. No, God may shake his head at my digressions, but he never gives up. Never, ever considers washing his hands of me. Because unlike this impatient, short-sighted child, God sees in each of us the potential to be-- perfect.  And God is willing to stick by us, work on us , polish and prune until we again reflect the brilliant image of our Creator.

Lord God, even when it hurts, even when we disagree, thank you so much for desiring us, pursuing us in love. Amen.