http://www.turnbacktogod.com/story-teacup-speaks-about-its-potter/
Basically the teacup explains the ordeal it has to go through in order to be transformed from a lump of clay into a beautiful teacup. I won't explain much more than that because I went to the trouble of making a link and you should go to the trouble of clicking and reading because after all, you did go to the trouble of reading this blog. (And I imagine there are many troubling things in this blog... for goodness sake, we've discussed rotting cow heads, wall-peeing, and many other topics before.) Anyways, Tammy told me this story last month and it stuck with me. I went home, researched it, and bookmarked it. You know things are serious when I bookmark a webpage.
I love this story. I can relate to it.
And I hate this story. I can relate to it.
Things have been rather painful lately. Actually, that might be a bit untrue... things have been painful for a couple of years now. The past two years--starting two summers ago--hold all kinds of painful memories. I'm not saying they are bad years. I'm just saying they are full of pain. And while it's not pleasant to consider, it's where maturity began to grow. Rapidly. Perhaps too rapidly, I often think.
I feel very much like the woman in John 16: "When a woman gives birth, she has a hard time, there's no getting around it. But when the baby is born, there is joy in the birth. This new life in the world wipes out memory of the pain. The sadness you have right now is similar to that pain, but the coming joy is also similar. When I see you again, you'll be full of joy, and it will be a joy no one can rob from you. You'll no longer be so full of questions."
Alright, so at the moment I'm feeling the childbirth pains of that woman. Friggin' terrific. Here I am, having never been intimate or even close to intimate with another person, and yet I'm already experiencing labor pains. In a way I can sympathize with Mary. You know, young virgin girl who suddenly explodes like a pimple due to the squalling baby Jesus inside of her. She didn't ask for it. God believed that she could handle it, and helped her to.
I didn't ask for labor pains either. I never asked to have a metaphorical baby Jesus inside of me. Well sure, I've asked Jesus to be in my heart and to work inside of me.... but COME ON, I never asked for labor pains.
And you know what else Mary and I didn't ask for? Stretch marks.
Ugh. Stretch marks are awful. They're cowards, you know. They sneak up and spring on you all at once, and no matter how hard you wrestle with them (and no matter how much lotion you may use), they still get on your skin. Literally. And then you bear the battle scars unless you do happen to find a suitable lotion. But Mary didn't have cocoa butter or laser treatments. She just had stretch marks.
The truthful, always reliable Wikipedia says, "Stretch marks are often the result of the rapid stretching of the skin associated with rapid growth or rapid loss of weight. Stretch marks may also be influenced by hormonal changes associated with puberty, pregnancy, muscle building, etc."
Ah, here's the connection you've been trying to make in your head. Stretch marks often occur during pregnancy, right? So those that feel labor pains (now I'm speaking metaphorically--anyone, male or female, can experience these), are also the ones that have exploded like a pimple due to the new life inside of us God has planted. When I say we explode like pimples, it means we grow rapidly.
Growing rapidly has different meanings here. Stretch marks come from "changes associated with puberty, pregnancy, muscle building."
Puberty, meaning the time of growth from child into adult. Pregnancy, the time of a growth inside of us. Muscle building, the time of exercising and becoming stronger.
Are you starting to see something God wants us to realize? Because I am. Just now. And I'm the one writing the dang thing. I sat down to write something entirely different and God has completely turned it around into something way cooler than I had in my head. Let's see where this tangent goes, shall we?
I believe that as true followers of Christ, we all must go through puberty, pregnancy, and muscle building. Again, "there's no getting around it". It's like an initiation. We must, or we aren't true followers. We all must grow up, mature, and become stronger from there. It's that easy, and that hard.
I'd have to guess that my spiritual puberty lasted from early childhood to about the two years ago I mentioned. That was a time of learning stories from the Bible, then learning what they really meant, learning the basics about God, learning that He loves us and cares for us and thinks we're beautiful and worthy, and learning the slightly more complicated stuff.
Then two years ago began the pregnancy stage. That's when the seed God had planted inside of me started to grow. I learned to live a life as a follower of God, instead of just saying I was. I learned to be kinder, even to people who weren't to me (or at least, I learned to keep my mouth shut, which was probably a kind, if not the kind thing to do). I learned to be bolder about what I believed, instead of shrinking away with embarrassment. I learned to deal with life situations that were becoming increasingly more and more difficult, and to rely on a God that wanted to deal with them for me.
And I guess I can go ahead and knock out part of the muscle building stage because I've truly learned and grown a lot spiritually. I have a long ways to go, but I've come a long ways too. I'm exercising daily the life that God wants me to live and the things He wants me to do. I'm not always thrilled about it... heck, I'm not usually thrilled about exercising anyways... but I'm becoming more willing to strain a little harder and hold weights a little longer. Still, there's a long journey ahead, as the brilliant, revolutionary John Pinette talks about here:
You see any connection between his struggles at the gym and our struggles with muscle building for God? Yes, we are muscle building for God. I like putting it that way. It's like He's our trainer, and He's encouraging us along as we sweat things out. He wants us to be spiritually fit and healthy. He may require us to do some exercises that look absolutely humiliating in front of other people, but come on, He doesn't want us to look like the Kool-Aid man. I don't want to look like the Kool-Aid man. I want to be a dancing member of God's kingdom. And I'm sure no matter how much we complain or how embarrassing we may look while working out at His gym, He won't turn to drugs and alcohol or open a candy store.
At the moment I'm going to focus my attention on the labor pains. I've gotten used to the pregnancy stage. Not comfortable with it, (how is any pregnant person truly comfortable?) but I got used to it.
Now there's labor pains. And I'm thinking the same thing any rational person in labor probably thinks: "OMG IT'S COMING IT'S COMING OWWWWWWW IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS NFFGDGDBREBGQWHTOIESKVBDF,MMVLVKNFGHNMG.,NJHGCNCG"
Here's the thing... and this here will express the sobriety inside of me about this whole situation: it hurts. It hurts. I know there's joy coming, and I know it will not be robbed from me... but it hurts. I never imagined I could feel so much pain and still be able to function and breathe and live. I feel vulnerable, as my feet are up in the air on stirrups and God is looking over at me to see how I'm doing. Waiting to see how I will react, if I will retaliate by trusting He will do everything right... or if I will scream and curse His name for doing this to me.
Because in all honesty, I've not been too happy with God lately. In fact, I've been pretty furious with Him. I know in my heart that He doesn't make things happen, He allows it, but that doesn't stop me from being angry. And while I'm ashamed to be angry, I'm also not. I know He's alright with my anger. I know He's alright with me screaming with pain and senseless rage. He's the parent who loves their child, even when they are rebellious and acting out because they are stuck in that miserable corner of not being a child and yet not being an adult. He's the groom who plants a seed inside of the bride. He's the midwife who is waiting to bring new life--and with it, new joy--into the world. He's the trainer who encourages and builds us up and applauds when we flex our improving muscles.
There have been times I've broken down in bitter tears and I want to say something, I am just longing to tell God exactly how I feel, but I can't speak from weeping so hard, and all I can say is, "It hurts, God, it hurts."
And He says, very gently, "I know, Ashley. But not yet."
Not yet. How I hate those words. And yet how true I know them to be. If we got exactly what we wanted, when we wanted, we would be destroyed and the child would never come out fully developed. I'm so thankful God doesn't jump through hoops and do everything I want. I'm so thankful God has and will continue to mature me, even though it hurts.
Something else on the Wikipedia page for stretch marks caught my eye: "They are caused by tearing of the dermis, which over time may diminish, but will not disappear completely." The stretch marks experienced through puberty, pregnancy, and muscle building will ALWAYS stay with us. We can't undo it. We shouldn't try to undo it. Even the best cocoa butter and the best of Satan's work can't undo it, if it occurs the right way.
I can't help but wonder how long this labor will go on. Honestly, all I want is to see the face of the child. I just want to see the results of the pain, the teacup at the end of the torture, the joy that no one can rob.
"How long, Lord, must I wait?"
"Never mind, child. Trust Me."
If you've stuck with me this far, thank you so much. I appreciate it more than you realize.
