Dry Bones

I went to this antique store yesterday with my really good friend, my college friend who knows my soul and my story and I know hers. Easy company after a rough week. We had this trip planned for many weeks, a foray to this shop several towns over that is the mecca of every Pinterest project I have on my boards. Metal, wood scraps, bits and pieces of old stuff gathered in rooms and barns and add-ons that just don’t end. The possibilities are endless if you have vision and talent and funds. All of those are in short supply for me but it is fun to pretend sometimes, to escape reality and listen to the other shoppers, eavesdrop and wonder what they are going to do with the doodad they just picked up. While it may have been wiser to bring someone who could advise us, knowing we each held the same skill set allowed us to mock and dream and joke, something we each desperately needed. We left with purchases that required little imagination, cups to hold candles, tin buckets for flowers, a piece of wood on which to attach a letter. Except for the old steamer trunk.

One attached area was labeled the “Rough Room” which should have been a warning to us. Beyond our competence of repurposing, we should have been barred from entering. There should have been a bouncer who asked for evidence of completed projects worthy of internet postings. Instead the kind folks at this shop just let anyone in and we took advantage. We went in. Tucked away in a corner was an old steamer trunk, pink paint flecking off, marked down price tag begging me to take it home. I immediately saw all of the possibilities, forgot my limitations. I saw beauty. I saw life in the most unlikely place, the joining of this  relic and my abilities. I guarded it while my friend went in search of staff, sure that someone else would come along and snatch up my treasure.  My friend agreed to purchase the trunk for me for my birthday, still months away, in order to get it by my Chef who would surely struggle to share my joy. The trunk fit nicely into her van, I just needed to figure out how it would fit into my life. Details for another day.

As we wandered about all these discarded pieces of others lives, we who wanted to breathe newness and hope and bring them into our homes, suddenly Ezekiel 37 came to mind. God promised to breathe new life into the dry bones, to bring renewal to the dead, to restore the nation of His believers. Just as my friend and I were searching about, looking for ways to breathe new life into old cast offs while we sought to escape the realities a fearful nation  outside the barn doors, I remembered God is the ultimate crafter. His Pinterest boards are not just wishes but completed projects, showing off wonders and majesties beyond any of our dreams. More amazing still, He wants us to join His crafting table. He doesn’t guard his techniques like secrets, He doesn’t show off without letting us in on the process. It is all in His guidebook, step-by-step. He promises to breathe new life into dry bones, to rise up an army, to bring the nation of believers together again. This may just be the project that we need, the rising of believers in this time of uncertainty.

I don’t know what is to come of my pink trunk. It is a bit smelly, the paint is peeling, Chef is creeped out by it. I wonder who owned it before, what hopes and dreams were stored in this trunk, what stories it held. I am going to breathe some life into it, I probably won’t post any results. I am just an amateur, sitting at the Master’s table. That brings  comfort today.

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