The garden is beginning to bloom. The rain has soaked the ground and pushed life out of the dry seeds I planted a month ago.
Once again, I find myself amazed. Granted, all I did was sow the seed… but He took even that small act and made a miracle of it.
How is it that these hands- these hands that bruise and wring and flail- how can these be the same hands that sow life? That bring sound to celebration and wipe sorrow away?
And this mouth? How can this mouth wail and cut short and boom like thunder… how can that same mouth sing requiems and breath life and build spirits?
My ears can hear hidden daggers, decipher sarcasm, and harbor memories of tone. But these ears make sentences out of a child’s few words, these ears hear history in a voice on a record, and these ears search out the smallest hint of mirth.
These feet? They stomp in anger and run in fear or even stand idle and cemented… but yet dance and run like lightening to rescue or wander bare through tall grass.
These eyes can kill or they can literally overflow with joy and grief.
How can one body, one soul, be capable of so much? And how do we balance the tension of being imperfect made by perfection? I know I was made for more, by More, and yet I choose less almost every time.
By Grace and grace alone. We are both fearfully and wonderfully made.
Every time I have the option, let me choose to do good. By faith and by grace, let me use what I have for Good.