Splat!
We have all been there, feeling like a lifeless lump of clay, completely demolished. One day you can feel "on top of it" managing life and living in the fullness and the next, a family crisis, health scare or even your own failings can leave you leveled. It can be quite humbling. We are left to rebuild, beginning again at ground zero.
"Who am I again? Where is identity found? Who do I rely on when all is lost?"
Stripped bare, crushed down we get to see what we are made of and who or what we rely on in difficulty.
But it's not all hopelessly lost. At least demolition isn't supposed to be like that. It serves a very important purpose. My husband did some demolition on a house we bought this year. I assumed it would go quickly and casually as he took some hammers to some walls. But it was a longer process, a necessary one. Behind several walls he found the water damage from a few longstanding leaks. Under a bathtub he removed three dead rodents! From the outside you wouldn't know these issues were present. Yet, clearly, it was time for demolition. The great painful paradox-demolition of shaky, sketchy things must happen, but it almost always leads to rebuilding. And there is the hope.
When the Master Builder takes over that process, it's a beautiful one.
I can still envision my ceramics professor, rebuilding that lifeless lump, intentionally, pressing long and firm on top and side, centering that uneven pile of earth. Centering your clay on the wheel is a vital to creating a useful piece of pottery. Before you can go up, you must go down . . . and round with the Master's hand gently pressing in on all sides. Giving time to getting centered is His way. Spending time in His presence, allowing His healing hand to hold us begins the process. Letting Him touch and mold us, after being demolished is saying "yes" to redemption. He hasn't given up on us, even in our demolished state. He longs to draw near, pull us back to center and whisper "life" to that left over lump.
