This three-part series is inspired by Victory Fort Bonifacio’s mid-year corporate prayer and fasting. Today, I present little throwback as to what transpired during last year’s prayer and fasting. I like using the imagery of God hitting the pedal to the metal and going off-road to places unknown in terms of my relationship with Him during that time. The journey has so far, while not the most pleasant, is one that I cannot see unraveling any other way.
2015 was very polarizing for me. I had a pretty great start to the year — new job, ideal position, better finances, better health, looking at joining my church’s music ministry; then midyear kicked in, and I found myself in a relatively opposite position: jobless, dwindling finances, and with health best described with an interrobang.
Needless to say, my faith was shaken. I found myself asking — even questioning — God: What did I do wrong? Was I doing something bad? Is wanting to be happy a bad thing? Why did I feel so defeated? Why did I feel like my life was falling apart when God promises restoration, revival, and healing?
The season had me feel like I was in the middle of the process when old computers are restarting, but the shutting down process is taking a minute too long for my tastes. It felt so far from what I have gotten used to in the past decade, and much much farther than how I envisioned it to end.
But I find comfort that I am exactly where God wants me to be — in my questioning, in my helplessness, in my feeling lost. All I had to do was to take His outstretched hand. Then this is what I see —
The last six months of 2015 felt very much like tearing out a much used sheet from a sketch pad; years’ worth of pencil strokes and erasures. The lines have become unclear, my pencil blunt and now too short to re-sharpen, my eraser turned to dust. It felt as if I had gone over whatever it was I was sketching over and over and over again, so much that I have forgotten what I was drawing in the first place.
For a minute, I thought that that imagery meant that I had given up. But I choose to see it differently. A sketch is not a final work, after all.
A new sheet is revealed — white, clean, and new. This time, instead of agonizing over the artwork all by myself, I no longer find myself alone: God is with me, and He is holding brand new materials — and this time, it will be for His masterpiece.
Does this mean that I surrendered my life to God? Yes. Does this mean that I will no longer be involved? Not at all! This means that my life will be His work, and I am the pencil. My life, with all its darkness and light, its sorrows and joys, its defeats and triumphs, will be part of His masterpiece. I have learned to find joy in being directed by His hands.
Like all pencils, I am prone to breakage, to becoming blunt — that is my humanity and imperfection at play. I will need to be erased and sharpened, until all of my lead is drawn on the sheet of paper. The beauty of it is that all along I am in God’s hands, and my life is His handiwork. What I perceive as failures and setbacks are but the shadows that bring out all the colors and highlights of my life, and the end result will still be more beautiful than I can ever envision for myself.