Beautiful Things

All this pain
I wonder if I'll ever find my way?
I wonder if my life could really change at all?
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found?
Could a garden come up from this ground at all?


You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us


All around 
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You


You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us


("Beautiful Things," by Gungor)


Beauty.

As I was reading over the posts I've written in the past year, a pattern emerged, like a symphony that begins softly and rises to a thundering crescendo.  Life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.  There will be beauty from pain.  On the road to beautiful, the seasons always change.  These songs have meant so much to me, this school year.  They have comforted my aching heart and given hope and refreshment to my weary soul.  How much more they mean to me, now!  God really does make beautiful things out of the chaos and dust of human lives.

Change is painful; often unbearably so.  There have been a lot of enormous changes in my life this year--forgiving my father, breaking my engagement, dealing with the death of beloved friend and brother, battling depression, struggling with my calling and with the concept of grace.  Consequently, there has been an enormous amount of pain in my life this year.  At times, it did seem unbearable.  My heart was broken; the pieces scattered.  And even now that I've begun to pick up the pieces, it seems so incredibly weak and fragile--riddled with fractures and soft spots.  Irrational thoughts and fears linger, and it often seems that my confidence is shattered.  However...

"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted, and He saves the crushed in spirit."  (Psalm 34:18, ESV)

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."  (Psalm 147:3, ESV)

God has been very tender and gentle with me; He is a loving Father.  Under the care of the Great Physician, I have begun to mend.  But it will never cease to amaze me, nor will I ever cease to wonder, why God chooses to work through so fragile and fallible a medium as the human life, particularly mine.  I ask with the Psalmist:

"What is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man, that You care for him?"  (Psalm 8:4, ESV)

When I sat down to write today, I was at a loss for words.  My mind snatched aimlessly at my swirling thoughts, and as I pondered I begun to hum Gungor's Beautiful Things.  And as I mulled the lyrics over, a snatch of scripture flitted across my mind.  I sought the passage where the familiar phrase was located, and found this:

"We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure.  This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.  We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed.  We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.  We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God.  We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.  Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies."  (2 Corinthians 4:7-10, NLT)

I used to believe that understanding the purpose behind one's pain would help it to subside.  I now know that pain with a purpose is still pain.  However, that does not make the purpose any less glorious.  My human life is a fragile clay jar, but I have the indwelling presence of God, and the gospel of Jesus Christ blazes like a beacon in my soul:

For a short time, the Creator of the world took on the frail terra-cotta mantle of humanity, with all the sweat and blood and tears contained therein.  He was intimately acquainted with every form of temptation, and He knew the full intensity of both physical and psychological pain.  He lived a perfect, sinless life.  He then assumed the guilt of all mankind and endured the full wrath of God.  The Son endured death--separation from God, His Father, from whom He had never been separate--in order to satisfy that wrath.  He did all this, and was gloriously raised and restored to perfect union with the Godhead, in order that mankind might be reconciled to God.  Having done all this, He entrusted the task of spreading and sharing this glorious good news... to us.  To fragile clay jars.  To dust.   This is the message God compels me to proclaim with my life.

It is unfathomable; ridiculous--laughable, even.  But is also true.  And incredibly, achingly beautiful.

God has striven mightily to impress upon me the meaning of beauty.  I have seen it in smiles and laughter.  I have seen it in bitterness and pain.  I have found it solitude, and in relationships.  I have found it in growth and in setbacks.  And it has surprised me over and over again in myself.  Beauty is found in the God-fashioned life.

I have often looked back on this season of my life; now, I look forward to the next.  Changes are imminent, and inevitable.  I've finished off my sophomore year of college.  Beloved friends are scattering across the country--and the globe--for the summer.  Some are graduating.  Many are getting married.  And I am going home, to build up and strengthen my relationship with my family, to reconnect and fellowship with old friends, to build relationships with the lost, and to grow immeasurably in the love and grace of God.  I look forward to rest and refreshment; I look forward to the challenges I will face.  Most of all, I look forward to the astonishing beauty God is working out in my life, and all around me.

He  makes beautiful things.