I came to God as a chunk of rock–dirty, marred and rough. It took a sculptor’s eye–God’s–to see the perfect soul within. He just had a little work to do to make my soul as round and perfect as a white sphere.
Michelangelo used to visit the Carrara quarry in the Tuscany region of Italy, hunting the perfect slab of marble for his work. He’d walk among the stones looking at the veins in the “wild” rock trying to find the piece that would bring forth Moses, or the Pieta, maybe even David. He had an eye for beauty and could at marble three-dimensionally, seeing past the ragged edges to the “life” within.
I think God’s like that, too, when he examines my life.
The life experiences God has taken me through are opportunites for that craggy piece of rock that’s my soul, to be shaped and formed. In my mind, someday I’ll reach heaven with a soul in the perfect shape: a white sphere without angles–smooth, polished, glowing and whole.
But to whittle down my soul to where it can be that perfect sphere, means sometimes chunks have to be jack-hammered away, broken off–occasionally in large pieces like a calving iceberg, other times like Michelangelo’s chiselled tapping.
Each chip knocked from my rocky soul brings me closer to the core of who God created me to be: in his likeness, whole and complete. I like to think the longer I’m a Christian, the smaller and more precise the taps need to be.
Sometimes, however, I err and the hammer and chisel come down hard. It hurts to realize what I thought were steps closer to perfect, actually only displayed a marred vein of self within my stony heart.
It’s challenging to realize I need to be thankful God recognized the slab needed to be removed–because my concept of perfection doesn’t always match his.
I’m confident one day I’ll get so close to holiness, all it will take is a little polishing with water and sandpaper.
But until then, I’ll focus on delighting that God is the sculptor of my soul and His eyes see a multi-dimensional vision of who He created me to be.
Thanks be to God.