Exhale Gold Dust

“…Depth beneath depth and subtlety within subtlety, there remains some lingering idea of our own, our very own, attractiveness.”-The Four Loves, by C.S. Lewis

I know that I am a piece of clay in my Father’s hand

To Him I have offered up

Myself.

“Mold me,” I bid Him.

“Make me what you wish.”

But I didn’t realize-

I could not have foretold:

The grating,

The sanding-down,

The chipping away.

I expected it to hurt for a while,

And then get better.

I thought my heart was maleable,

Warm.

Wrong.

It is not a massage

Or a gentle forming.

It is scraping and thus

I am reduced to a heap of dust;

So hard was my heart.

Blind eyes deceived me.

The wretched soul holds onto lies,

Looks for good in itself.

Mistaken creature that I am,

He holds me dear.

His whisper I await,

I know it will come.

Even when I least expect it:

“Take heart”

“You are beautfiul”

“I will renew your strength”

“Give you wings”

Hallelujah, God Strong Tower

Make my dust

Golden.

Breathe me in,

Never exhale.

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