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Dust


To you, O LORD, I called; to the Lord I cried for mercy: "What gain is there in my destruction, in my going down into the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it proclaim your faithfulness? Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me; O LORD, be my help. (Psalm 30:8-10)
 
          This morning is a chilly, rainy morning at Hillcrest. When I looked at the clock at 6 am, what I wanted to do is go back to sleep, but my neighbors are used to having their newspapers on their doorsteps. Even though they are kind and would understand, there is something in me that didn't want to disappoint them. Dog, flashlight, umbrella and I went out the door. The only thing left behind was the camera. Grace got dropped off less than half way through because that's as far as she wants to go and when I left her behind, I left the umbrella and flashlight. Just me, the rain, the newspapers, and my mental intercessory list.
          It wasn't raining hard enough for me to get soaked, probably the wettest things were my shoes, the inside of my right pocket where I kept putting the hand that had just been handling wet plastic wrapped newspapers and my attitude. By the last tenth of  a mile, I was having  a pity party, whining at God for a hug in whatever form that takes and especially for wisdom, direction and attitude.
          I have no doubt that my cause for complaining is not really justified. The only thing that is wrong is my attitude. That's why I ask people to pray about it all the time. The psalmist in this passage was probably afraid he was going to lose his life. I am afraid my ego will be hurt because I've failed (in my own eyes if no one else's.) Then I looked to see what passage I get to write about to share with you. "Will the dust praise you?" 
          I'm not so much thinking that I'll be dust, but sometimes, I feel like I'm in the dustbin...Cinderella with no fairy godmothers. And sometimes, it's through humor that God hugs me and tells me that even if my dustbin problems aren't as life-and-death as the psalmist's, that He's listening. And that can spark my own sense of humor.
          Remember the story of the poor woman who gave her two mites? Those mites weren't worth much. They weren't important except that they represented all she had. Ever heard of a dust mite? Isn't that what I've been describing...small, insignificant, in the dust, not (feeling) worth much.... sometimes, our praise might be dust "mites" or maybe even dust "mights" (as opposed to dust "definites.") They might not be worth much. They might not be important. But those mitey praises might represent all we can do at the moment, and God accepts that.

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