Silly Putty in His Hands

When I was a kid, I kept myself busy for hours with "Silly Putty" - the stretchy, rollable, flesh-colored glop of rubbery plastic sold in brightly colored egg-shaped containers. Okay, to be honest, I have no idea what "Silly Putty" is made from. It could be plastic, or it could be rubber, or it could be over-processed play-doh. Chemistry was never one of my talents. All I know was that I used "Silly Putty" for many things: modeling clay, snakes, bouncy balls, rings, bracelets, playing catch, masks, darts, and so much more. I think I spent most of the time on Sunday afternoons pressing the "Silly Putty" onto the comic section of the weekend newspaper, transferring the image onto the flattened ball, and then stretching it in every direction until the image wasn't recognizable anymore. Then, I'd start again.

I went to a memorial service last night. A letter written by the relatively young widow was read by one of my good friends. The letter started with the woman's appreciation for all our prayers, then she detailed many specific ways that God's provision was taking care of the family. The letter ended with a challenge to the audience to make our choices count.

Our choices are the modeling clay for our lives.

The illustration Paul uses to depict our status as "clay" is in Romans 9:21. It says, "Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?"

Now, the question is "Am I Silly Putty in God's Hands?"

Do I let Him mold me, stretch me, and transfer His Image onto me over and over again? Do I let Him stretch me, pull me, kneed me, roll me up then flatten me out on a daily basis?

It is a daily choice - not just on Sunday afternoons with the comic section in front of me.