I needed to bake. I had volunteered cookies for the ladies retreat.
I flipped on the oven and my little countertop TV in the corner. I would love to tell you I wanted the company of the History Channel or an equally educational PBS station as I worked in my kitchen, but I most likely was clicking up the dial to 137 or 157, the Hallmark channels. Yes, I do love the sappy, trite, and predictable.
Suddenly, there was Super Nanny. I think I had heard of her, but I had never watched her in action. I set my remote down and listened for a bit as I scooped the dough onto the cookie sheet. Nanny was coaching an attractive but haggard-looking couple on how to get their adorable little Gabriella to bed by 8 o’clock. I paused and turned my attention to the fray, curious.
I watched as this persistent daddy cradled his kicking and screaming 3- or 4-year-old’s face and said something like, “It’s time for bed. I am taking you back to your room and you must stay there. You can’t have Mommy. You must obey my voice.” As instructed, he would carry her back and firmly place her in her comfy bed, pull up her covers, and walk out. Within seconds, his hysterical daughter would reappear in the living room, throwing herself on the floor in wild protest. Sweaty but determined, the daddy scooped her up and retraced his steps to put her to bed again and again. What a tantrum!
I was amazed at this stubborn, sassy, little girl’s strength and tenacity. I bet she carried on for a good half hour before she finally gave in to her exhaustion. I winced. It all seemed vaguely familiar--and way too personal. But it wasn’t until I was sitting at the retreat a few days later munching on my cookies, that it all came together—painfully.
I’m Gabriella!
I am that angry and impudent child. I have a loving Father who knows what’s best for me. He made me, after all. And He loves me. When I rebel or kick up a fuss about His plans, His purposes, or His designs for my life, He gently but resolutely holds my cheeks, looks into my eyes, and tells me to listen to His voice and do as He asks.
Laura, our speaker at the retreat, reminded us that God alone is the Potter. I love that word picture! My creative, all-wise Maker is asking me to let Him refine me and remove the rocks, stubble, and junk that are deeply embedded in my heart, hidden even from me. He longs for me to allow Him to press, mold and shape me on His wheel, to let Him place me in the fire…it all involves my willing surrender to His hands. I must trust Him and give in to His loving desire to make me more like Jesus, a useful vessel He can use. I can heed His wooing or I can throw a royal fit. I can give myself over to His perfect plan, one I don’t know and can’t control, or I can fling myself on the ground and presumptuously take charge of my own life. Gabriella.
I can climb up into His process and stay there. Or I can be an insolent brat.
I choose the Potter.
I believe there’s no safer place to be than in His hands.
Eileen Hill