When I was a little girl I loved playing in the mud. Mud pies. Mud fights. My brother and I would build these intricate “vases” and artistic vessels then hide them to dry. In the process of course, we would get covered in mud. So we’d get the hose and spray each other with water. And laugh and laugh.
There’s something about mud that is simultaneously intriguing and messy. Perhaps as children we see the same creative potential God did right before God created us. The mud in and of itself isn’t beautiful – it’s oozy, brown and kind of gross. But with some life breathed into it, mud takes on shape, form, creation.
Sometimes I feel like mud sans life, just a mess. But the creative work of God didn’t stop in the garden. Not only is the breathe of God continually filling my dusty lungs with life and purpose, but my being was made to be a reflection of the greatest Creator. If I search deep inside me to those childish eyes, I see mud differently. There’s room for life, beauty, and passion.
Sometimes it just needs a hand to help mold and a little breath to get going.