He's Still Working

The Instruments God Uses to Shape His Living Stones

Monuments

The black is so polished I can see my face. Thousands of people gather at the wall, using charcoal pencils and scraps of paper to copy names. Behind me sits the Washington Monument and the Reflecting Pool on the mall in D.C. I am astounded by the amount of names. I search meticulously for the name of my great uncle killed in Vietnam.

Stone shaped to remember, memorialize the 58,318 recognized casualties of that war. There is a reason we mark such things. The stone will long outlast the men and women who gather daily to collect names. There is precedent for using geological material to honor moments of great importance.

In the book of Joshua, the new leader of Israel is instructed to gather twelve stones to pile in the midst of the parted Jordan River, and another set of twelve to set on the west side after the miraculous crossing. Joshua even tells them why.

That this may be a sign among you, that when your children ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean ye by these stones? Then ye shall answer them, That the waters of Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD; when it passed over Jordan, the waters of Jordan were cut off: and these stones shall be for a memorial unto the children of Israel for ever.

Lively Stones

It is interesting then that in the book of First Peter, saints are called living stones. The imagery of a Keystone and subsequent living stones are used to describe a beautiful house of which God is the architect. Another monument, this time to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross for the purpose of redemption of mankind.

Both monuments are symbols of the grand mercy and grace of our God. One memorial was compiled by men to remember. The other is actively being shaped and built as a tribute to The Keystone, the Lord Jesus.

The Shaping

When I consider my life, I am frankly awed. Not because God has a plan for my life, though He absolutely does. I am more amazed that I have been shaped to live a life to suit God’s plan. That He has made me to be a supporting character in the narrative He has written from creation. The story is thousands of years old, with millions and perhaps billions of saints who have gone before me and yet, He still wants to use me.

And I am not the only one.

For those of us who have in Peter’s words believed on Jesus Christ, He is the stone most precious. The reason for our life, our breath, our joy, our everything is the why we are shaped.

Read that again!

I know I needed to do so. Because let’s be honest, shaping hurts. It chisels away at things we would rather hold. It conforms us to be useful for His glory.

We are not the key— He is. And the fact that we are included in the monument He is building should humble everyone of us.

It is the shaping that gets us there. And for each of us that shaping was different, in this beautiful building not one of us are the same.

The Instruments

When I think of what God used to shape me, I find nouns; People, places and things.

Some of them I’ve mentioned in past posts, My mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Some I will mention in the future. (June we celebrate fathers and for me that includes good men who influenced me)

The Person

But as we near Memorial day there is one man I do want to mention. A man I recently said “see you later” to. My uncle Neil. Air Force veteran, Competent, always smiling and a habit of pronouncing my name Jess-eek-uh instead of the common Jess-i-kuh. I can still hear it when I close my eyes. From my earliest memories, I felt safe with him.

Since my own grandparents, Neil’s brother and sister in law, were missionaries I spent more time in his home as an adopted granddaughter rather than a niece. In 2009, when I set out from Oklahoma where I reside back to my native Colorado, for medical appointments pertaining to my traumatic brain injury. My uncle called me every ninety minutes just to make sure I was safe and still on my way. He loved me, and I never doubted it.

The Places

Being homeschooled through all twelve grades had certain advantages. One of which was the ability to pack up school work and travel. When I was a senior in high school I got to travel with my missionary grandparents on their furlough up and down the east coast of the United States. We visited from Maine to Virgina and every state in between except Vermont.

On that trip the place that stuck out the most. Gettysburg. You could feel the sorrow. Like the wind itself respected the fallen. We walked the fields, climbed Little Round Top. The hair still stands up on my arms when I think about it.

My Grandpa made that portion of the trip, as well as the tour of D.C. possible. Arlington, The Vietnam wall, The WWII memorial. The names and rows of gravestones that never seemed to end. Those shaped me.

They were people, and the thought I had on that hill that day is forever burned in my memory. It sobered me to tears. They were more than their uniforms and dog tags. They had families, and preferences and favorite songs. We set headstones to mark them, so their names may not be forgotten. That experience was a chisel that shaped the way I still think today.

Markers

These are some of my memorial stones. Good memories that shaped me as much as hard ones.

Nothing was wasted, they all served a purpose. And the Father isn’t done yet. He is still working on me. Making me what He planned for me to be. In the midst of that I get to be used as an instrument in His service, in shaping the living stones around me.

May the Master Builder find me faithful to the call, and joyous in the opportunity, both to shape, and be shaped in this design He is creating until the day He calls me Home too.