There are days when I look at myself—at my life, my flaws, my fears, my insecurities—and I think, What on earth could God possibly do with this? I am, after all, just one part water and one part dust. A fragile mixture of flesh and breath, hopes and failures. A soul wrapped in skin that bruises easily and a heart that sometimes feels like it could crack under the pressure of the world. And yet, the older I get, the more I learn that this is exactly the kind of material God works best with.
“One part water and one part dust.”
That simple truth reminds me of something profound: God is an artist who delights in creating beauty out of the most unexpected ingredients. He has always taken what looks ordinary, or broken, or unremarkable, and shaped it into something extraordinary. The story of humanity begins with dust—but it never stays there. Dust is where God starts His work, not where He ends it.
And the miracle is that He doesn’t just mold us into something functional. He transforms us into trophies. Not trophies in the sense of something polished and placed on a shelf, admired from afar, but trophies of grace—living proof of what He can do through lives that feel small, cracked, or insignificant. If you’ve ever felt like nothing, then you are precisely the kind of person God specializes in. It’s what He does. He makes something out of nothing, again and again, with a kind of intentionality and tenderness that defies explanation.
But what amazes me most is this: His work is never finished, and it is never past due. God is not bound by our sense of timing. He doesn’t look at the calendar and worry. He doesn’t run behind, scramble, or apologize. He doesn’t abandon projects halfway through or give up when we become difficult to shape. He continues to mold us patiently, sovereignly, faithfully. Even when we feel delayed or lost, God says, “I’m not done with you yet.” Even when we think we’ve ruined the masterpiece, God gently continues the process.
There is no expiration date on His craftsmanship. We don’t age out of His care. We don’t fall behind His plan. We don’t slip through the cracks of His schedule. His work, unlike ours, is never late. It is always right on time.
And maybe that is why His voice feels like a calming embrace. In a world full of noise—constant, unrelenting noise—His whisper stands out precisely because it is quiet. The world shouts. Fear shouts. Grief shouts. Anxiety screams. But God? God calls softly. He speaks with the kind of gentleness that breaks you open, not in pain, but in relief. You can almost feel His hand under your chin, lifting your gaze from the chaos around you, reminding you that you are not alone in the dark.
In those moments when life feels impossible and sleep seems far away, I imagine God sitting beside me saying, “Child, forget not your dreams.” Not the dreams I thought I should chase, not the dreams that made me fit someone else’s expectations, but the dreams that He placed inside me from the beginning. The dreams I tucked away because life felt too heavy. The dreams I buried because disappointment taught me to expect less. God whispers them back to life.
“As we lie awake in the dark… just don’t lose heart.”
How many nights have I whispered that to myself? How many nights have I needed to hear it from Him?
There is a sacred honesty in those midnight hours. The dark doesn’t hide anything—it reveals the truth about our fears and our faith. And in the quiet, God reminds us that His plans do not end in darkness. That the story is still unfolding. That the pain we feel is not wasted. That the waiting is doing something in us, even when we cannot see it.
We are, after all, moving from dirt to a throne. It sounds dramatic, almost unbelievable, but it’s exactly what Scripture teaches. We were formed from the earth, yet destined for glory. Born into brokenness, yet redeemed into royalty. In the blood of the King, we find not just salvation, but identity. His DNA runs through our spiritual veins. His authority covers our weaknesses. His love redefines how we see ourselves.
It means we are not who the world says we are.
We are not who our mistakes say we are.
We are not who our past says we are.
We are not who our fear says we are.
We belong to a King, and His blood changes everything.
This body of ours—this jar of clay—is fragile. It cracks. It leaks. It chips under pressure. But that very fragility is the beauty of God’s design. Inside these jars of clay, He places hidden gold: wisdom gained from suffering, compassion birthed from wounds, strength forged from storms, faith refined by fire. The cracks don’t ruin the vessel—they reveal the treasure within.
The world looks at our weaknesses and sees fault lines.
God looks at them and sees the perfect places for His glory to shine through.
Hidden gold.
We all have it.
Even when we cannot see it ourselves.
And then, there are those hidden crowns. Those unseen victories. The choices to forgive when it hurt. The decision to keep going when we wanted to stop. The prayers whispered through tears. The kindnesses no one noticed. The battles fought quietly inside our own hearts. These are the crowns we carry—not on our heads, but in our souls.
One day, they will be revealed.
One day, everything invisible will finally be seen.
One day, every small act of faith will shine like a diamond.
And on that day, in a moment beyond time, we will lay those crowns at His feet.
What a thought.
What a picture of surrender and worship.
All the victories He helped us win, all the growth He nurtured in us, all the strength He poured into our weakness—we’ll return them with joy. Because they were never ours to begin with. He shaped them. He carried us through them. He held us together when we felt like dust falling apart.
I often think about how much pressure we put on ourselves to be perfect, to have it all figured out, to move forward in a straight, steady line. But God is not asking for perfection—He’s asking for surrender. He’s asking for trust. He’s asking for a heart that is willing to be shaped, even when the process is uncomfortable. He is making something beautiful out of us, and beauty rarely comes without pressure, fire, and time.
And yet, He gives us grace in that process. Grace to try again. Grace to heal slowly. Grace to grow quietly. Grace to rest when we’re weary.
His voice calls us back to center. His hands reshape what has been crushed. His presence fills the empty spaces we didn't know how to name. His love—so patient, so steady—keeps working, keeps forming, keeps redeeming. Even in seasons when we feel like we are sinking, He is lifting. Even when we feel unfinished, He is finishing His work in us.
We were never meant to complete ourselves.
We were meant to be completed by Him.
So when I think of being one part water and one part dust, I no longer see fragility as failure. I see it as potential. I see it as a canvas for God’s grace. I see it as an invitation to let Him do what He does best: make something out of nothing. Build beauty out of brokenness. Bring purpose out of pain.
And the truth is, He’s not done yet. He’s not done with me. He’s not done with you. Even if the season feels long, or quiet, or uncertain—even if everything seems unfinished—God’s timeline is still right on time.
There is hidden gold inside you.
There are hidden crowns being formed in your life even now.
There is a throne waiting for you—not because you’ve earned it, but because you belong to the One who sits on it.
And one day, when all of this earth melts away and time folds into eternity, we will finally understand the masterpiece He was crafting all along. We will see the full picture. We will behold the glory He shaped from our dust.
And we will lay our crowns—every victory, every healed wound, every faithful step—at His feet.
Until that day, remember this:
You are being shaped.
You are being held.
You are being transformed.
From dust, into glory.
From brokenness, into beauty.
From here, into forever.
And the Artist is not finished with you yet.
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