Unmade and Refashioned: Life in Continual Renovation

At first, I was bent out of shape. I had a plan and somehow my life didn’t look like the blueprints.

Then I was stretched, like dough, thin in places, sometimes with holes punching through. I thought I wouldn’t be good for anything. I spent many a dark night waiting until I found my soul had expanded and I was stronger than I thought.

Only when I became soft and pliable, could I accept whoever I am supposed to be. I am the clay who thinks she knows her own mind. Yet has been made and remade so many times, she isn’t sure what she used to be or who she is becoming. 

Each time I think this is the last, I can’t do it again. Yet again I am undone and refashioned and I survive, becoming more nuanced, and subtle in the beauty of process and yet more sure and certain.

I don’t hold too tightly to that certainty because it has failed me often. Instead, I embrace my current shape and revel in the beauty of it. I will mourn when it’s time to begin again and yet, I am better able to calm the fear that creeps into my chest for I know my maker.

The one who forms and reforms me, who continues to work and turn and sculpt my flawed humanness into something resembling the divine; made in the image of someone greater.

I still don’t enjoy the remaking, but I am learning to embrace it anyway.