When he was eleven years old, my son gave me a gift he’d picked out and purchased himself. A small ceramic pitcher—about five inches tall, painted pearly white, with a tiny pink flower attached.
Not long after, a stormy season sent me more fervently seeking, searching for rescue and relief. I sank my teeth deep into a brown leather Bible, and its words sank to the deepest parts of me. God’s Love Letter was the balm for my hurting heart, the binding up of wounds, the filling up of empty within.
The pitcher survived a series of moves, including the long flight back to a new beginning. Drenched with grief and wearing shame, I stepped back onto the soil of my homeland, saying, “What now?”
In the foggy months that followed, I sensed God whispering—that divorce didn’t define me, or render me defective. Didn’t disqualify me for service. While I struggled trusting, He continued singing over me.
In time, His hands would bring meaning from heartache. Tears would be transformed into an avenue He’d use to convey compassion, presence, love and truth.
The pitcher took a prominent place in my home and became a visual reminder to keep returning to Him. I continued to be drawn to the well of Living Water where I’d drink in words from the Word. His filling prepared me for the pouring.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7)
Oh, such encouraging and humbling words penned by Paul, whose past was not a hindrance to the mighty hand of God.
People were placed in my path. Opportunities surfaced—chances to assist an aging parent, bandage scraped knees, make school lunches, encourage a missionary, listen to a hurting friend, pen hopeful words, pray from a waiting room, wipe away tears, offer a hug to one battling addiction, say to a child, “You are loved, ‘fearfully and wonderfully made.’ ” (Psalm 139:14)
I’m amazed at His wasting of nothing—His way of breathing life and beauty into what remains of even the worst of our seasons. My storm had left me thinking I had nothing left to offer. Maybe you’ve been in that place too.
You and I, we may feel weak and useless. Like jars of clay. Yet there’s treasure inside. And by His filling, our fragile frames are fueled with His strength. Prepared and readied, to pour.
About the Author:
Jennye lives in Oklahoma with her fisherman husband, daughter, a dog named Cy and a cat named Tux. Between them, she and her husband have seven grown children. She enjoys the outdoors, traveling, coffee-shop conversations with a friend, and morning meditations in a cozy chair with a cup of tea nearby. She has a passion for in-depth Bible study and delights in communing with her Creator as she works with words and photos. She desires to remind others that the One who has walked with her through fiery flames and deep waters, walks with them, too.
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