Yielded and Still?

Photo by Johnnie Ann Gaskill.

In the 1907 hymn, “Have Thine Own Way, Lord,” writer Adelaide A. Potter pictures herself as a lump of clay in the hands of the potter. She says she is yielded and still, willing for God to do whatever He chooses with her. 

In so doing, she’s applying to her life this great truth, spoken by the prophet Isaiah many centuries ago:

Although we know we should be still and even though we want to be still as we wait for God to act, it’s hard, isn’t it? Especially if we are in pain. Especially if we have no clue what’s going on. 

At such times, we often behave like young children who are too immature to understand why parents and doctors who are sincerely trying to help them are treating them in ways that often bring more pain. (Think: throat cultures, shots, tubes inserted into infected ears, etc.) 

Such handling makes NO SENSE to a baby or a very young child. Is that child still? NO! Does that child kick and scream? YES! Does his resistance prolong the process and make it more difficult for everyone concerned? YES!

But as the child matures, he learns to be still (well, somewhat still, at least!) when undergoing measures that will help him feel better. Likewise, the more you and I mature in our faith, the more we’ll learn to be still while God does for us--and with us--what He knows is best.

Yielding ourselves to Him--being still and quiet in His loving hands--takes lots of maturity, lots of faith. Our faith grows as we read and practice the principles found in the Bible; as we learn (experience by experience) that our God loves us and wants to help us, rather than harm us; and as we learn from the examples others set for us--and from the insights they share with us.  

Yielded and still? Not always. But increasingly so!

Inner Beauty

The lavender tulips I’d bought and placed in a glass vase had begun to look droopy and wilted. Their petals had opened up all the way and a few of them had begun to curl and turn dark, especially along the edge. Their stems had weakened and could no longer support the blooms, causing the tulips to face the floor instead of the ceiling. Seeing how they no longer looked liked tulips, I started to throw them away. But when I took a closer look, I realized they were still beautiful on the inside!

Naturally, I just had to photograph them! Late one evening, I carried the vase of pathetic-looking flowers downstairs to my photography studio. I broke off one of the better-looking blooms and placed it in a container that gave a bit more support to the weak stem, which I had already shortened considerably. I finally managed to get the bloom turned upward, though at a slight angle, since it could no longer hold itself fully erect.

I’m glad I photographed the tulip before discarding it, because now I have a beautiful image that reminds me that flowers—and people, as well—possess inner beauty even as their youthful loveliness fades.

That’s a comfort to me, especially as I see more and more telltale signs of aging appearing on my body. Regardless of the changes that occur in my physical body, I hope I will always have “beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God” (1 Peter 3:4, New Living Translation).