Then the Lord God took some soil from the ground and formed a man out of it; he breathed life-giving breath into his nostrils and the man began to live. [Genesis 2:7 (GNT)]
You were made from soil, and you will become soil again. [Genesis 3:19 (GNT)]
Today, I thought again about that handful of dirt in the farmer’s hand and remembered the creation story. God scooped up a handful of soil, breathed life into it and made man. I don’t care whether the words are figurative or literal or if they support the creationist or evolutionary points of view. All I know is that God made something out of nothing then and continues to do so now!
He takes our worthless parts and gives them value. He imparts our exhaustion with vitality, our weakness with strength, and our loneliness with love. He makes whole our brokenness, fills our emptiness, and replaces despondency with hope and sorrow with joy. He gives sight to the part that is unseeing, perception to the part that is unhearing, and a voice to the part that is mute. He replaces our shame and disgrace with forgiveness and mercy. He takes our soiled parts, washes them in His blood, and makes them clean. He fills that cold void in our core with hearts of compassion and scoops us out of darkness into the light. He holds us in the palm of His hand, takes all of our deadness and decay, and breathes new life into us.
Thank you God, for taking this handful of soil and filling me with life anew!
Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,
that I may love what thou dost love, and do what thou wouldst do.
Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,
until with thee I will one will, to do and to endure.
Breathe on me, Breath of God, till I am wholly thine,
till all this earthly part of me glows with thy fire divine.
Breathe on me, Breath of God, so shall I never die,
but live with thee the perfect life of thine eternity.
[“Breathe on Me, Breath of God” by Edwin Hatch]
We’d taken my daughter and grand-daughter to a magic show and both my husband and grand had participated in two rather impressive illusions. On the way home, we three adults tried to figure out how each trick had been done. We explored various scenarios that might explain how the $50 bill with my husband’s signature on it ended up in the middle of an uncut orange, in a paper bag, and in a locked box that was in another locked box across the stage. We also tried to figure out how the magician used an elaborate series of mathematical calculations to know the age of our grand’s dog in dog years. (The dog, not there and being 105 in dog years, was most definitely not your average dog.) While we pondered various scenarios, my grand piped up, “Stop trying to figure it out. It was magic!” While it was an entertaining show, we know it wasn’t magic; it was just a carefully orchestrated and well-executed series of tricks. Nevertheless, we continued to want to know how each had been done. There is something about us all that wants to make sense of that which makes no sense. Sometimes, however, that can’t be done.
