Sweet Like Honey

our family's journal of God at work

A Tool In His Hand

2 Comments

I am like a tool in the hands of a Master Craftsman.  Unlike a tool, I feel, see, think, question, try to “use myself”. . .

As a tool, I am useless

. . . Unless I have been cleaned and sharpened by the Master.

. . . Unless I am held in the hand of the Master.

. . . Unless I am yielded to the Master and allow Him to move me in the direction He desires.

. . . Unless I am content to chisel away at the tiny spot He has given me and not take credit for the larger carving or try to do the work of other tools.

I am not the Craftsman. 

I am not responsible for deciding what work (ministry) to do, or what kind of carving the Craftsman should make.  Sometimes it hurts to be used against the rough wood of life.  Sometimes He uses me in a dark corner, and I get discouraged because I cannot see the whole thing.     

When the Master sees dullness in me that needs sharpened, I ought to be thankful that He loves me enough to keep me useful for His service instead of complaining that the sharpening hurts. 

As a tool, I want to be used by the Master.  But I remember that He is the one doing the work.  There is no room for boasting, only humble rejoicing.  Here I am Lord, use me. 

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Author: Cassie

Follower of Jesus, wife and mom to the most wonderful family I could ever ask for.

2 thoughts on “A Tool In His Hand

  1. Cassie,

    I loved these “Tools” posts. Really great encouragement to remember who I am before a holy God. I forwarded them on to Matt for his files, too.

    I’m praying for you; I know you have not faced easy things over the past months, and I appreciate your reliance on the faithfulness and goodness of God.

  2. Cassie,
    Those words were so encouraging and uplifting and so true! Thank you sis! There are times in my life when I catch myself trying to advise the craftsman what tools He should use on me. I would rather Him use the battery operated ones that would instantly get it done instead of the ones by His loving hands. Batteries run out, but the work of my Father never does. His hands are continually at work on me, and one day when He is finished, My creator will say ” That one is mine”:)
    Tammy

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