My empty pot

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I had a pot, a pretty little pot.

I filled it with good soil, rich in minerals, fertilizer, and lots of organic nutrients.

I planted a seedling of my dream in that pot.

It took rooted and grew, a little.  Then withered.

‘Something must have been wrong with that plant.’ I thought.  ‘Can’t be the soil!’

I pulled out the plant and tried a different kind.  Same story.  It grew a while, this time larger.  But didn’t bear fruit before it, too, dried up and died.

Not to be discouraged, I researched on-line ‘Best plants to grow in a pot’.  There were all sorts of suggestions and stories of how so-in-so, who shared the same dream I held close to my heart, had found success with this kind of plant or that.  I selected the one with the most likes and tried that.  This time, it bore fruit!  It grew and grew and started to flower.  I was excited.

But then, something got to it.  And it too withered.  I was beginning to feel a bit discouraged.

Not one to give up easily, I prayed to God.  And tried again.  Following yet another suggestion.  I was not willing to abandon my dream. After all, if I try hard enough and use the best materials and practices, surely I can make it happen!

Each time I tried something new, the results were the same – a variation of my one-flower plant.  And then it died.

Successive plantings produced pitiful little plants.

And these shoots that seemed to take root ended up looking worse and worse.  I began to feel embarrassed that I had told anyone about my dream.  They would ask me from time to time about it.  And I would explain my latest attempt.  And they would listen with sympathy and interest and pat my back and encourage me to keep trying.  “You’re doing all the right things!  And your soil is so good,” they would exclaim.

Then one day, before I even got to plant the new seedling I had purchased, it died.  Yes! This different variety, this potential little wisp of a potential little flowering plant, actually withered and died in the car, on the way home. Even before I could transplant it into my good soil.

‘Father, what are you telling me?’  No, answer.

It seemed that the Father was closing this door.  If I’m honest, I can look back and see how He had begun to push the door to my dream shut, moving it on its hinges.  I had ignored that, persevering to the day, not wanting to abandon my dream.

But now I could see, that my pretty little pot with its good soil was not going to accept any plant I placed in it.  For reasons unknown to me, but totally in the sovereign and good will of my Father.

Once home, I threw the plant in the garbage.  And shifted my focus away from my pretty little pot. I turned to God’s Word and comforted myself.  It happened that the appointed reading for that day was in 2 Chronicles about King Jehosophat and his desperate situation.  His humble and transparent honesty encouraged me as he knelt and prayed. Here was a king in front of his people admitting his strong need for wisdom, direction, and help in the face of an approaching enemy:

2 Chron 20:12 “……We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

So, I took my pot and emptied out that fine, rich, organic soil.  And set it empty, on a shelf in the sunroom.  And I prayed:

“Father, here’s my pot.  Please fill it with what YOU want.  And if it be Your will to keep my pretty little pot empty, then blessed be Your name.  After all, You are the One who owns this pot. And I, as well, I belong to You.  In fact, right now, I yield both me and my pretty little pot to You.  Have your way, dear God. Amen!”

Amen.

Perfection and futility

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clay pot  “There I go again!”  as hammering self-condemnation reprised.  I had just done what I didn’t want to do, overeat.  Nothing really sinful in that per se, except that overeating is a gateway to my sin of self-centered, interior moping. More familiar than any other melody is my original adaptation of the human ‘Ode to my Pitiful Self’.

But thanks be to God and Bible-centered preaching and writing! Pastor and teacher John Piper rescues imperfect sheep prone to turn inward by proclaiming a recurring life-giving message of: “Don’t waste your disappointments, trials, suffering, failures,……”

God must have thought it was time to break my bent towards control and perfection with this sovereignly ordained ‘trip-up’.  So what galls me the most?  What sends me into despair each time I let myself down and overeat? Certainly not His condemnation, but MY disappointment with myself.

Here’s the rub:  Why am I even surprised that I can’t do what I want to do?

Like Paul, I wail: I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. Romans 7:15

“Stupid!,” this home-grown expectation or gateway toward self-chastisement. A recent podcast drove that home.  The speaker had been in therapy for a broken marriage and started to heal when she made the connection between her:

  1. Assumption that I CAN be perfect (do what I want to do)
  2. Anxiety over the burden of trying to be perfect
  3. Bondage to control in order to gain perfection

I suddenly saw the futility when I realized that we were never meant to strive for perfection.  In fact, God has intentionally designed us the opposite!  The human model comes with abundant limitations.  We see them as flaws; He ordains them as gateways for God’s glory and grace to show.

...we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. 2 Cor 4:7b

Breakable clay is the term for earthenware. In Paul’s time, vessels, plates, jars, cups were made of a clay mixture containing oyster shell pieces. God has purposefully made us out of crumbly stuff.  The Almighty Father and Creator made us delicate and fragile so that we would depend and rest on Him to do all that He calls us to do.  He didn’t aim to populate His kingdom with self-sufficient, sturdily consistent perfect little beings.

That is good news, brothers and sisters.  Let it go, all those expectations of how you want to act.  Yes, we are called to be imitators of Jesus, to be holy because God is holy.  But He knows we are going to blow it, multiple times a day.  Why are we the last to accept that?

Holy Spirit, remind me straight away when I miss the self-assigned mark I naïvely think will make me feel good about myself.  Grow me a new song,

a melody of music“Here I go again, a perfectly designed child of my Father who just sent me a love note that says, ‘Maria, come to me with your mess; don’t be surprised, you just need to give it a rest and flop down and swim in my grace and love!‘”

 

 

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