If you listen to Christian radio or Christian music daily, chances are that you’ll hear at least a song or two (or three) inspired by our allowing and asking God to “use” us.
As a “baby Christian”, when I first gave my life to Christ, I would put my all into singing those very songs every Sunday morning. I wanted to be used! Without even knowing exactly what that meant, I found myself in line with everyone else eagerly awaiting my chance at it.
It didn’t take me very long to realize that being used by God isn’t quite what it may sound like at first. Being used doesn’t always mean having a platform, being used doesn’t mean that people will immediately gravitate towards you and love you, upon seeing Christ in and through you. Being used doesn’t mean grandeur and glamour of being “well known”.
Being used, before all else, is total submission to whatever God may want to do to you, which may come before the “through you”. It means taking your hands off the reigns of control over your life, your preferences, your comforts, you. It’s about becoming that piece of pliable, shapeable “nothingness” akin to play-doh in a six-year-old’s hands.
Control, not having even a little of it, has always been a “fear” of mine. Until Yahweh. At first, I questioned and quarreled (a tad) about His movements, and why He allowed the things He did (c’mon, we have all had those “But why God?” moments). Then, I came to understand that the same great, loving and merciful God that saved my heart, my life from the most gruesome of pain, was the same God with me throughout the uncomfortable and complicated moments. Malachi 3:6 says it best:
“I am The Lord, I changeth not.”
Those moments were all under His control. I was under His watch. His watchful, and loving eyes. Whether I understood His reasons, His plans or not.
That realization, that surrender and trust (took me long enough), was what inspired me to write On His Strings. Unlike a regular puppet though, I wasn’t created for entertainment, but for a purpose of a deeper kind, but still under that similar control, because of the new life that is totally in His hands; ultimately for His honor.
On His Strings
There she stands, the puppet on the master’s strings
This life she lives not by her own reigns but His
The show has begun and there’s no turning back
The curtains drawn, the lights all on, no room for anxiety attacks
The master is ready!
Hands, feet, every faculty
This being, this feeling, this knowing, this trusting
All His, a prisoner of His way and will
Her fate-accompli, and yet, her all-in-all, still
Surrender? Her only option
A new day, a new her; deconstructed then rebuilt under the master’s instruction
Until the show’s over, all to repeat itself again
She remains at his beck and call, every jump, hop, skip, twist and bend
To tell His story, all His, even the raves and applause
She stands, she walks, she sits, she talks
Tired, at times dismembered, bruised & broken as she might be
Under the master’s control, the show must go on
The strings hold her firmly, her weak limbs feign strength, she must hold on
This love for her master, the potter of the once useless mold of clay
So in her brokenness, dismemberment and exhaustion, here she will stay
Created by His very hands, the embodiment of His perfect plan
She must be used, and used up she will be
Through the pulls and strains, her all in all still, her fait accompli.
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