This post was written by my mom a couple of years ago (and originally posted on my old blog, which is still around: thepaintedukulele.blogspot.com). It’s about faith and Isaiah 41:13.
A number of years ago, when our family was going through a particularly rough time, Olivia would encourage and comfort me with verses. She would email verses to me. She would write verses on cards. She would paint canvases with beautiful, comforting scripture. One treasure she gave me was a square of baked salt dough and on it she painted “For I the Lord your God hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you.’ Isaiah 41:13”
That gift has lifted my spirits many times over the years. The beautiful, warped and cracked salt dough. The precious, uneven edges. Isn’t that like us, followers of Christ? His word, his unfathomable spirit, in our broken vessels. A thing – no, a person, of inestimable worth in this jar of clay. When I look at this square made from material that probably only cost 10 cents, I see a treasure of immeasurable worth. The word of God. That is what our heavenly father sees when he looks at us. We may be broken vessels, but he sees the magnificent glory of his son. Praise God!
One of my 17 year-old sons was on my mind all day yesterday. He had gone on a short road trip with a friend, and I couldn’t shake my concern. I prayed throughout the entire day. I had to discipline myself to turn my chanting prayers of, “Lord, please protect him. Lord, please protect him,” into “Lord, thank you for protecting him.” Then last night, as Olivia and I walked down the dark driveway to leave Bible study, her cell phone rang. My phone was off, so when she said, “It’s dad,” my heart dropped to the cold, hard concrete. I could hear the serious tone in his voice when he said to her, “Let me talk to your mom.” Fearing the worst, I started shaking even before I said “hello.” My son had gotten into a car accident.
Praise God, my son was not hurt. Praise God. It could have been so much worse. I am weak with gratitude to my Lord. Thank you, Lord. Thank you. He heard my prayers. He watched over my son.
When I decided to have children twenty years ago, I didn’t realize I would be giving birth to my own heart; that for the rest of my life, my heart would be walking around in these three precious lives in a scary, unpredictable world. I am continually teetering between my faith and trust in the Lord with my desire to protect my children from harm and the uncertainty of life.
This morning, with reawakened gratitude to the Lord for his love and protection, I once again walked by that salt dough plaque and read, “ For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you.’”
My thankful heart overflows.