The blacksmith takes a tool and works with it in the coals; he shapes an idol with hammers, he forges it with the might of his arm. He gets hungry and loses his strength; he drinks no water and grows faint.
The carpenter measures with a line
and makes an outline with a marker; he roughs it out with chisels and marks it
with compasses. He shapes it in human form, human form in all its glory that it
may dwell in a shrine. He cut down cedars, or perhaps took a cypress or oak. He
let it grow among the trees of the forest, or planted a pine, and the rain
made it grow. It is used as fuel for burning; some of it he takes
and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes bread. But he also fashions a
god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it. Half of
the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat
and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, “Ah! I am warm; I see the
fire.”
From the rest he makes a god, his idol; he
bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, “Save me! You
are my god!”
They know nothing, they
understand nothing; their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see,
and their minds closed so they cannot understand. No one stops to think, no one
has the knowledge or understanding to say, “Half of it I used for fuel; I
even baked bread over its coals,
I roasted meat and I ate. Shall I make a
detestable thing from what is left? Shall I bow down to a block of wood?” (Isaiah 44:12-19)
Sometimes, our dreams fail, our hearts
break, and we’re afraid to dream again. Sometimes, we pick bad dreams and even
make them our gods. They may seem exciting or even noble, but somewhere along
the line, we become the belonging of what we thought belonged to us. As a simple
and silly example, during my first year of taking care of my father in Florida,
I noticed that the newspaper deliverers tended to toss the paper onto the
grass. I decided to be helpful and redelivered the papers to the steps. I still
do it when I notice a paper. Somewhere
along the line, it became an obsession, which might not have been so bad if
another newspaper hadn’t tried to increase its circulation by
delivering a paper to every lot in the park. I could not ignore them, and I was
angry with the publisher. They haven’t done it since 2020, so I don’t know how
I would react now.
Another petty god to which we tend to be
drawn is image. I want to be seen as competent, Christian, wise, capable… Other people want to be seen male
(when they were born female) or female (when they work born male.) Others want
to be seen as rich, powerful, intelligent, educated, kind, caring, inclusive,
etc. Identities and roles can be as dangerous.
This may be the reason for my anxiety
over most of my dreams. Are they the wrong dreams? Are they just arrogance on my
part? Am I seeking to “be like the Most High God”? These aren’t necessarily bad
questions until they become petty gods and get in the way.
Let’s turn the tables. Recently, I
challenged a friend to list some dreams. What are yours? Make a list, and
present it to God for confirmation.
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