The more I come to recognize my story's place in God's grander Story, my once-bewildered questions are turning to psalms of thanksgiving at the wonder that I have been included in what He is doing.
Oh, God, You have given me a vacant soul, an untaught conscience, a life of clay. Put Your big hands around mine and guide my hands as a teacher guides the childish fingers that hold their first crayon, so that everytime I make a mark on this life, it will be Your mark. When my hands mold this clay, may the impressions be, in reality, made by the movement of Your hands and directed by Your perfect thoughts.
We may run, walk, stumble. drive, or fly, but let us never lose sight of the reason for the journey, or miss a chance to see a rainbow on the way.
