Even when I read this title I think, “Oh good grief…can’t she do better than
that?” Unfortunately it all too well clearly demonstrates my entire poetical
ability. Now don’t get me wrong, I love
reading the poetry of others—clearly my own writing skills belong in a
different genre. My worst poetry crisis
occurred only four years ago. There we
were, sitting in our Welcome-Back-to-School first staff meeting of the
year. Our principal gave us the
assignment. We were to create a poem about ourselves, publish it on paper of
school colors, and post it outside our door just under our name plate. The purpose was to make ourselves more
personable to our students and parents—a way to communicate to them who we
were. Immediately the “test-phobe” side of me began to squirm. (A teacher with test-phobia…now there’s some
irony!) Less than two days—how will I finish in time? What should the finished product look
like? What if people think I’m a dork? I
don’t even remember the rest of the staff meeting because I was consumed with
dread, anxiety, and even stubborn rebellion.
Midnight prior to the first day of school, most teachers were getting a
good night’s rest in preparation for the next day. I, on the other hand, was at the breakfast
counter with a drained cup of old coffee and a blank sheet in front of me. Then
I whined out the most self-centered prayer I can ever remember praying: Dear God, Why can’t I write this stupid
little poem about myself? I even have a template, and all I have to do is fill
in a few adjectives, adverbs, names, and places. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just get
this done and go to bed?
I’ll never fully grasp nor understand the wonderful mercy of our
gracious Heavenly Father!
He immediately answered my pathetic little prayer:
“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:17 (NIV)“Whatever you do, work at it with all you heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” Colossians 3:23, 24 (NIV)
Hesitatingly, nervously, I once again picked up my pencil and began to
fill in the blanks. It clicked. Was it my mechanical pencil that clicked? No, I
think it was the hard shell around my heart that clicked when it cracked…my
heart was beginning to soften and melt within me. I began to realize the wonderful collection
of words, names, places, and events that my Heavenly Father arranged to make me
into the best ME possible. This was His specific
design for me.
Truly Blessed
by a Loving Heavenly Father
By
Dotty Willmon
I am from quilting
needles and knitting needles; from Plymouth Rock and the rock-bound coast of
Maine.
I am from
cinder block, the spray of salt water, pelicans, and the squish of sun-baked sand
between my toes.
I am from
red-tipped photinias, poinsettias, and gladiolas, and the lingering taste of
homemade molasses cookies.
I am from Fuller
family picnics at Old Fort DeSoto; from butchers, bakers, and cabinet makers;
from George & Ruth, Gram W., and Tim.
I am from the
“always be prayed up,” out-going, fun-loving, bull-headed Scottish/Welch and
Irish clans.
From “JOY means Jesus first, Others
next, Yourself last” and
“Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.”
I am from canoe
trips at Camp Suwannee and old fashioned Southern Gospel Sings that lasted all
night until the morning light.
I am from The
Mayflower, New England boiled dinners, hot dogs “anytime” and Saturday night
baked bean suppers with steamed brown bread.
From the mother
who became a nurse after being told she would never walk again; from the young
girl who took her Driver’s Ed test in June with her head still bandaged from a
serious camping accident in May; and from a brother who struggled for each
breath but was determined to make the dreams of others become a reality.
I am from
scrapbooks, photo albums, and thousands of slides; from hand-pieced quilts and
knitted mittens. From the old Family Bible—a
loving memory of those who made me what I am.
Don’t you just love a twist at the end of a story? I do.
You see, I can’t recall a single student, parent, teacher, or even the
principal stopping by my room that year to read my poem. If they did, I am not aware of it. But that’s really and truly okay with
me. I didn’t write the poem for them.
Nor did I write it for myself, nor even for you. I wrote it to let my Heavenly Father know I
recognize all the work He did in advance to create me. It was my humble way to say “Thank you” to
Him.
Here is YOUR challenge: The next
time you go to work and engage in all those boringly mundane or disliked tasks,
change your perspective. Do it for the
Lord and not your boss.
“So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31 (NIV)
I can assure you, your hardened heart will melt, and the quality of
your work will improve.
Finally, and perhaps most significantly, thank God for His specific
design for YOU.
Respectfully written and submitted by:
Dotty Willmon, Resurrection Christian
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