A Crucible, Really Lord?
Last weekend antique scouring proved to be another "skunk" for myself. However, my husband found a treasure trove from a rancher who lived in the Montana area. Tools, block & tackle, a spur, pots and pans, all from the 1800s.
Can you imagine the story these items could tell, this pulley for a well?
The theme. Always a theme. An assayer's crucible and blacksmith tools. I'm mesmerized by these items, yet I don't want to write about them, no I do not. Always the crucible, the heat and flames. Always the shaping and forging. Can we focus on something else, Lord?
So I take a walk in the park this morning behind our home. "Help me to see you in this, Lord. Open my eyes to see." I'm thinking of my son, with severe bipolar. Always changing, chaotic at times, and dark. Glimmers of light do come, yet they are elusive, fleeting moments that I try to hold on to with all of my might. I cannot.
I look up and see the clouds. Rows and rows of fluffy cotton balls, I've seen this before. Our artists try to duplicate. Amateurs.
I look down and see the green grass. Rows and rows of lined blades. Deep green contrasted with a velvety blue, cotton ball sky. Order. Design.
Trees, shaped perfectly by the wind. Reaching towards the One true artist in perfection. Tiny hummingbird, I pause and breathe. I see Him, perfect creator. Order. Design. He is the master and we are pathetic, fraudulent copy cats.
We try to control and understand this mental disorder. So many opinions about something we know absolutely nothing about. And mothers become martyrs and doctors become experts. The state controls behavior and lives with presumption and condescension. And others profit. And through this I see Him. I am humbled at this sight.
Take off my walking shoes, clasp my hand over the mouth, humbled.
"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?” Romans 9:20
My son is Yours, God. You made him, you hold him. The One who cannot be held, holds. And holds me too. Our whole family.
And, who are you, Deborah, to distrust your God. If he cares so much to create a magnificent, billowy sky that is new each morning in perfection and creativity...how much more, how so very much more is He creating and bringing beauty out of the crucible of bipolar.
"The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the Lord tests hearts." Proverbs 17:3
Change my heart, dear Lord, in your perfectly designed and ordered crucible.
I submit here, Lord. Again.
"Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me." Psalm 51:10
Can you imagine the story these items could tell, this pulley for a well? 
The theme. Always a theme. An assayer's crucible and blacksmith tools. I'm mesmerized by these items, yet I don't want to write about them, no I do not. Always the crucible, the heat and flames. Always the shaping and forging. Can we focus on something else, Lord?
So I take a walk in the park this morning behind our home. "Help me to see you in this, Lord. Open my eyes to see." I'm thinking of my son, with severe bipolar. Always changing, chaotic at times, and dark. Glimmers of light do come, yet they are elusive, fleeting moments that I try to hold on to with all of my might. I cannot.I look up and see the clouds. Rows and rows of fluffy cotton balls, I've seen this before. Our artists try to duplicate. Amateurs.
I look down and see the green grass. Rows and rows of lined blades. Deep green contrasted with a velvety blue, cotton ball sky. Order. Design.
Trees, shaped perfectly by the wind. Reaching towards the One true artist in perfection. Tiny hummingbird, I pause and breathe. I see Him, perfect creator. Order. Design. He is the master and we are pathetic, fraudulent copy cats.
We try to control and understand this mental disorder. So many opinions about something we know absolutely nothing about. And mothers become martyrs and doctors become experts. The state controls behavior and lives with presumption and condescension. And others profit. And through this I see Him. I am humbled at this sight.
Take off my walking shoes, clasp my hand over the mouth, humbled.
"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?” Romans 9:20
My son is Yours, God. You made him, you hold him. The One who cannot be held, holds. And holds me too. Our whole family.
And, who are you, Deborah, to distrust your God. If he cares so much to create a magnificent, billowy sky that is new each morning in perfection and creativity...how much more, how so very much more is He creating and bringing beauty out of the crucible of bipolar.
"The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the Lord tests hearts." Proverbs 17:3Change my heart, dear Lord, in your perfectly designed and ordered crucible.
I submit here, Lord. Again.
"Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me." Psalm 51:10
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