In all my growing up years, my greatest ambition was to be a mother. Twenty years ago, three minutes into Mother’s Day, I became one. My blood shot eyes stared into those brand new blue ones and time stood still. His father calls him our first masterpiece. He is ours, indeed, but we both know that only the Master can create a ‘piece’ as miraculous, spectacular and invaluable as a child. Our privilege has been sitting in the front row seats, witnessing first hand the exploits of this breathing, moving work of art we call son.
People are made in the image of God.
Each one of us unique and yet just like Him.
Eight billion people roam the earth right now reflecting Him. All of mankind who have lived and died up till now have carried His likeness, pointing to a multifaceted Creator beyond our comprehension. God is not to be boxed.
There are human beings, yet to be born, who will carry something of the Master that we have not yet seen. Solutions, discoveries, words, songs, imaginations, stamina, capacity, creativity, inventions, you name it, all wrapped up in the flesh and blood of one who might grow in a mother’s womb, but can only be knitted together there by God.
With our individual loads to carry and crosses to bear, we experience the smile of the Master when we live obedient to the call on our lives. When we dare to believe that God is who He says He is, we are free to live like the child of His we are: affirmed, loved and capable of releasing all the good things of Himself that He has stored up inside of us.
I think it’s fair to say that whenever something wonderful is being created, there are times when observers would just see a mess, unable to make head or tail of what is unfolding. Like a sculptor chipping away at stone or a potter moulding clay, the treasure within the raw material is exposed when it is in the right hands. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. (Ephesians 2 v 10)
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