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Handiwork

             For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Ephesians 2:20)

If there is any verse in Scripture I find it harder to believe than this one, I can’t think what it is. I believe it, oh yes, when I’m at my best, I believe that it’s true. I also believe it when I’m not at my best, but I tend to follow it (at least in my mind) with, “Yep, and then I screwed it up completely.”

It seems as if God is asking me, “Are you not content in what you’re doing?” And the answer is both that I am, and that I am not. I’m content in what I’m doing, but I’m not doing enough. I should have done more all through my life. Yes, I’m content in what I’m doing, but if my books were selling, or I were doing something impressive, I would be more content. And yet, do I do anything to change my circumstances? No.

Most of the time, I just keep moving along, doing whatever catches my attention. But then the question gets asked, and I have no stories my own magnificent conversion or of leading people to conversions; no stories of miracles. Like the folks in the second half of Hebrews 11, I’m an unnamed, insignificant nobody. And the fact that the world was not worthy of those nobodies only helps a little.

Frankly, this is probably a case of familiarity breeding contempt combined with poor vision. I have this idea that spectacular works: signs and wonders are the evidence of God’s work in a person’s life. I ignore the miracle of salvation because it’s not visible to me most of the time. I ignore the difference between how wretched my behavior could be because I don’t remember it ever being that wretchedly sinful. I did no more spectacular sins than I did spectacular signs and wonders. In short, I can’t see the forest because there are too many trees in the way.

Of course, not finding evidence can mean that I’m looking for the wrong evidence. In Prince Caspian, Lucy notes that Aslan seems larger to her. Somehow, I doubt she would think that she seems larger, especially after growing up as a queen and reverting to the little girl who was the littlest of the four Pevensies. Instead of looking at whether or not I have grown, should I be looking at how much God has?

          I suspect this is wise, but in this, I face another struggle common to man. Why do people have their children stand against a wall or door frame and mark their heights year by year? Why do I try, and fail, to take pictures of puppies as they grow to be dogs? It’s because when one is close to the object, one doesn’t notice what happens moment by moment or day by day. It’s only when we can look at what was six months ago, or six years ago, or six decades ago that we can truly recognize the difference. And it’s only when something gives us a true view of what and where we were then that we are likely to notice the change.

          I am lacking that vision at the moment. Have I grown? Has God grown in my perspective? I don’t know. I have to believe that it must be so because I don’t believe it’s possible for either of us to not have grown. But, lacking the sight, I shall have to walk by faith.

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