“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous— Psalm 139:13-14 (NLT)
Tomorrow I am starting to teach a Bible Study on God Knows… I am going to reference this scripture. First of all, anytime I teach, my mind goes to the future and I see myself in front of the Lord. We are seeing my life and He stops the reel when I am teaching. The scenario in my mind is, He stops the reel, looks at me and asks, “What were you thinking?” This is said incredulously .
I usually pray a lot during those times!
In preparation for tomorrow, I was looking through old pictures. I mean the old black and white with the curly edges on the photos.
I smiled at many of them and just stared at others. The ones I stared at were of myself. There are two options about my pictures of growing up.
1. I was a dorky kid.
2. My parents had a warped sense of humor in taking pictures.
Personally, I think it is a combination of both. My poses were either with my head tilted to such a degree that it looked like a random head resting on a shoulder. And, yes, I still tilt my head like that, although with age, it’s just a head tilt.
My other poses are just as random. Legs and feet firmly planted on the ground almost looking like a gorilla standing upright, making faces , eyes crossed and tongue out. Some, though, are attempts at being a girl with minor manners. How I ever got a date in high school is beyond me! Must have been the Lord.
I can be very critical of myself as I think most of us are. In the end, though, we need to remember that we were carefully and lovingly created by a God who loves us. He created us, dorkiness and all.
Looking through the photos today brought back memories, good and bad. I could smell the air in the background. I can remember the fun. Time continues on and snapshots of our life will come to us at different times. We will remember parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, cousins. Echoes of the past linger deep within us. Memories are a scrapbook of our lives.
The Refreshing of a Wild Rose 