Dear daughter, I have chosen you as a vessel.
But God, me? Really?..
Daughter, yes. YOU!
But God, I’m so broken, if you even knew.
Daughter, not only do I know. But I see, I hear, I hold your brokenness in my hands.
But God, HOW could you possibly use me?
Daughter, you are a chosen vessel, a chosen instrument. I don’t call the qualified, I qualify the called.
But God, why don’t you use that one girl who has it more together than I do?
Daughter, I have plans for her. Don’t compare your walk with the person next to you. I have a purpose for you, and for her.
But God, doesn’t my brokenness disqualifies me from adequately serving you?
Daughter, that is the biggest lie you can tell yourself. Have I or have I not given you desires and a fire in your soul? I see ALL kinds of potential in your mess, I see all kinds of beauty in your brokenness.
But God…
Daughter, when a potter sits down to make a beautiful piece of pottery, they start with a lump of clay. That said lump of clay is beaten, shaped and molded. That clay is a mess, but the potter sees potential in the messy clay. Even through all you’ve been through and all you’ve done, I see potential. I see potential in your mess. I see potential in your brokenness.
