A 10 foot piece of pine, almost 2 inches thick by 8 inches wide, lay diagonally across the edge of the fenced in yard, wide side lying half against the grass, half anchoring the edge of a triangular piece of landscape material. Killing the grass in preparation for planting a garden spot, the broad board had been exposed to the elements for weeks, judging from its out of sync dimensions. One long edge lifted up and twisted, as if reaching for the sun. The other edge curled under, almost buried in the black fabric. Once a light brown, it was now a dry gray.
As I walked by, I imagined it speaking to me: "Do you see me lying here, all dry and twisted? I know I need to be out here by myself, but I’d have much preferred to be part of a grand building! A school, where children could learn of God’s great world. Or a home, where I’d have supported the load of the roof above a wide window. Or a church, where I could have been part of the roof rafters soaring to the sky! If I’d been tied into other rafters and studs, I’d be straight and true and, all covered up, I’d still be a virgin brown. I’m sad, here in the grass, alone in the sun. But thanks for noticing me. Maybe God will do something with me yet."
Father, you use all of us, even those of us who feel isolated, warped, and dried out. Thank you for your great creativity.