"For You did form my inward parts; You did knit me together in my mother's womb."
What were You thinking? I imagine an artist gathering his supplies, anticipating a new creation.
Did you know what I'd look like when You were done? Or was I just a spark, a thought, a germ of an idea. But a "just" with enough hope to spur You to action. I know this feeling. It sends me to pen and paper.
"In my mother's womb." Like all human creations, made in Your image, I would begin intrinsically united to another in relationship. The fruit of relationship. Three of us. Man, woman, child. Reflecting the one and three of You. Trinity.
"I will confess and praise You for You are fearful and wonderful and for the 'awe-full' wonder of my birth! Wonderful are Your works, and that my inner self knows right well."
The maker of galaxies and atoms made me. With words You commanded their existence. But with hands formed mine. Such love.
"My frame was not hidden from You when I was being formed in secret and intricately and curiously wrought, as if embroidered with various colors . ."
STOP!!! I LOVE that! What colors?! What colors did You use to make me?!
You must have used green! Lots of it. I love Your creation. The colors that come from You. They are intricate. The diversity of all You've made thrills my mind and calms my heart. If You made all of this and constantly sustain all of it by Your being and love me as You say You do . . then I'm safe.
What else? Which other colors? What color is music? The kind that says nothing but makes me cry. And words. Knowledge. What colors are they? What color is this passion that wants to tell, to teach, to lighten the loads of others with Your joy and truth?
And this. This cord that runs through the center of my being. That makes my heart beat and my body rise. Again. Day after day. To nurture, disciple, enrich, love these ones You've given me. To watch, assess, strategize, and pray. And pray. And pray. I am the steward of an influence that will affect generations. A steward of destiny. What color is this? Deep red I think.
". . in the depths of the earth, a region of darkness and mystery."
A fitting place for secrets. I forget that the Creator know its creation better than the creation knows itself. You are the keeper of all that is true of me. The better I know You, the better I know me. Comfort.
"Your eyes saw my unformed substance, and in Your book all the days of my life were written before even they took shape, when as yet there were none of them."
Story. I love story. Setting, plot, rise, climax, resolution. Protagonist. Antagonist. Hero. In a story they all fit perfectly together.
On their own my days, crises, joys, successes and failures are meaningless. Futile. But in the context of story, they make sense. They have purpose.
And to think it's Your book! You are the author. Of my my days. My life. My story.
I don't need to live up to anything. I simply live. My story is perfect.
"How precious and weighty also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I could count them, they would be more in number than the sand. When I awoke, could I count to the end, I would still be with You."
There is a jar of sand sitting on my kitchen windowsill . . just a jar. I couldn't begin to count the grains. You think about me more than all the sand in the world.
"Such knowledge is too wonderful to me."
(vs. 13-18 from the Amplified Bible)
This post is appearing today at Chasing Silhouettes, a blog by Emily Wierenga "for families who desire hope and healing on the eating disorder journey."