”Woe to those who quarrel with their Maker, those who are nothing but potsherds among the potsherds on the ground. Does the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you making?’ Does your work say, ‘The potter has no hands’? Isaiah 45:9 (NIV)
Dear heavenly Father, even your “Woe’s” are gifts of grace, for they warn me of the foolishness of my reasoning, the limitations of my perspective, and the self-centeredness of my musings.
Sometimes, I “think” I’d like to be you for fifteen minutes. That’d give me a chance to fix people that need fixing; fund ministries which serve you the best, but struggle with finances the most; bring judgment upon those who’ve got it coming; alleviate the sufferings of friends whose pain is overwhelming; get even with people who’ve hurt me the deepest and betrayed me the most; put an end to human trafficking; rid the world of annoying politicians, fear-brokers, and “liberal” pundits; and, heal broken marriages of friends.
Alas, Father, I am such a mix of good desires and broken agendas. I look at my list and realize how much I need the gospel—every day and every hour. Of course, you the Potter have hands—big, loving, mighty ones. And not only that, you have a heart bigger than the universe; wisdom beyond all imaginings; and a timetable that makes Swiss precision seem like laissez-faire laziness.
There is a Day coming when you will put all things right and make all things new. Give me patience; increase my gentleness; supersize my mercy; deepen my trust; fill me to overflowing with your grace and hope. And grant me quick repentances when I whine about the way you do your job. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ mighty and merciful name.
