Sanded and Sure

So last night after my nightmare (which I probably won't discuss here because it was one of those really realistic ones and I would have to go into detail about other people and honestly it's still kinda in my head) I was trying to fall back asleep and praying to the Holy Spirit (who I've taken to calling Sarayu after reading "The Shack" because it so much more personal than the Holy Spirit) to take control of my mind and rid me of all of those thoughts.

Well to stop my rambling and get back on track Sarayu did take control of my thoughts, and to replace the ones she had taken I saw images of the hand's of Jesus and His Father.

Jesus' hands were rough with the toil of His profession: carpentry. They had callouses and cracks and were filled with splinters. I could tell that they were strong and sure. They looked far from soft and smooth. The most notable feature of course was the holes however. The holes He willingly took for my sin. The holes that not only bared His weight, but the weight of the world. They were beautiful in their ruggedness and breath-taking in their purpose.

Now God's hands were even more ragged and worn. His skin was thick and tan from His ceaseless work. And God's hands were whittling away at a piece of wood. My piece of wood. He was carving me to make me His perfect creation, His perfect daughter. He was shaving away all of my defenses and all of my comforts, but He was making me undoubtably a beautiful sculpture.

And can I tell you, His rough hands hurt. They were steady and powerful, but their firmness was far from comfortable. And it reminded me of a favorite passage, from a favorite book of mine, written by my favorite author:

“Then the lion said — but I don’t know if it spoke — You will have to let me undress you. I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was jut the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.  You know — if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place.  It hurts like billy-oh but it issuch fun to see it coming away.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Edmund.

“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off – just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt – and there it was lying on the grass, only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again. . . .”

~C.S Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

So even though His claws are sharp and His hands are rough, it is merely to help exfoliate and cleanse us. It hurts, but after it is all said and done, after the carving is complete, all of the pain will have been worth it.