.for the battered and the weathered and the ones who finger-paint.

"Imagine yourself as a living house.  God comes in to rebuild that house.  At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing.  He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on;  you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.  But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense.  What on earth is He up to?  The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of-throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards.  You thought you were  being made into a decent little cottage: but he is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself." :: C.S Lewis, Mere Christianity

I'd really like the blueprints, please.

because the honest truth is it's easier to feel at home in a "decent little cottage", when we know what the rooms look like and where the light switches are. In fact, I 'd prefer it.

I'm not familiar with this structure He's building, towers and wings and all.

It could be fun, you know.  I could make like a Narnia kid and go running around the halls looking for the wardrobe, not knowing what I'd find around every corner.

When did that kind of adventure become less exhilarating and more terrifying?

"...isn't he the carpenter, the son of Mary?" Mark 6:3

He can build His home in me. The palace intended.
I hesitate to hand over the hammer and nails.
I fear demolition and additions.
I hate not knowing my way around.

I had ideas of my own. Blueprints of what this "living house" should look like.
But more and more everyday I find myself loosening my grip on them, crumpled and worn from years of white-knuckles & holding tight. They've practically disintegrated in my hands.

maybe that's the point.

The plan was for my mom to get well.
The plan was to leave college toting a degree.
The plan was to be living somewhere else.

The plan was to be dating by now.

The plan was to be confident by now.
The plan was to be a grown up by now.

The plan was not what things are.
Nowhere near them.

And so He's watched me draw these plans out and color in the lines, like a loving Father watches his girl with her finger-paints creating her own "masterpiece".

According to my finger-paints, this house should look different.

but a finger-painted blue-print makes for an unsound structure indeed.

He knows this.

So I think maybe He's framed my crumpled and worn, colored-in painted-on plans to lovingly hang on the wall of the Home He's building for Himself, just like a Father would.
My "masterpiece" in His grand plan.
And the thought of this pulls out the adventurer in me.
The one who looks forward to exploring the halls and rooms He's building.

"What on earth is He up to?"