Nothing Wasted

"Lost and insecure, You found me, you found me, lyin' on the floor, surrounded, surrounded, why'd you have to wait? Where were You, where were you, Just a little late, You found me." ~The Fray "You Found Me"

I feel like the line above is the repeated mantra of many Christian people...especially women who get past a certain age without certain things happening. I'm currently sitting at a sturdy and kind coffee table of the brand new house of the first young woman I ever invested in. She and her husband are expecting their second daughter in a few months, and I'm enjoying watching her two year old chat with her mom and me as I sip coffee in my favorite hoodie and a pair of workout shorts. Here I sit with my hair tied back in a messy bun and lightly smelling of the product placed in it for our party last night. My loose brunette curls remain, and I sit here listening to that toddler, and remembering the wee hours of this morning.

Maternal instinct runs deep and wide in me. It just does. Just after 2AM I heard her crying, and from my bed I sprang like the narrator in "The Night Before Christmas." I went to my door and stood there for a second, and quickly she calmed, I think she had misplaced her milk, but whatever it was, she went back to sleep before I ever walked through my door.  As I made my way back to the bed, my thought was exactly this "If I never become a parent, a great deal of maternal instinct will go unused, and a great deal of love will be wasted." Wasted. What a harsh and final word. I swallowed hard as I pulled the covers up around me comfortably and heard the voice of God so clearly that it hit me like a ton of something...bricks, or feathers, still a ton. "That, little one, is not your responsibility to say. However, my responsibility is to say that nothing I put in you will ever be wasted."

So, there I was, in bed, listening to the tick of the clock, and pondering the definition of wasted. To waste something is to throw it away, to squander it. Wasted. What I heard when people around me were drunk, or high, unable to control things around them, or themselves. Wasted. I swallowed a lump and fell somewhere between a balloon filled with air, and one filled with water, somewhere between completely light, and a bit heavy. Nothing wasted... I thought to myself, and as I did, I became the air balloon.

I realized that for me to believe something in me would go wasted or unused is for me to believe that certain drops of His blood were shed in vain. The blood of Jesus was a corporate gift, of course, but it was a gift for us as individuals, too. Granted, I did grow up in a more evangelical tradition, and I was blessed to hear God at a very young age. I don't believe Jesus ministered to the woman caught in adultery the same way He spoke to Peter, James, or John, but what I do believe is that He shed the same blood for all of them, and none of that sacrifice was wasted. Sure, not all will freely accept it, but for the ones who will, it is and will ever be enough.

I still often picture a dream I had at 10 years old of the cross falling into place over the widest chasm I had ever seen. Then, I saw myself, light and limber, dancing on the beam. I missed a step and began to fall far and fast, down, down, down, and far from the bottom, a gentle and strong set of hands caught me and placed me right back on the cross beam. Such is life. It's not my job to figure out what happens while i'm dancing through life on the beam. It's my job to remember where to dance, and who I'm dancing for. He knows my heart because He made it, and if I use it where I can, nothing will go unused, and absolutely nothing will be wasted.

Poured out,
Courtney