The dough was damp and sticky in my hand as I folded it over and kneaded it towards me. There were many lumps. Eventually, as I continued to tug, knead, tug, and knead, it became pliable under my hand. The dough was smooth and ready to be rolled. I rocked the wooden pin back and forth, flipped over the round circle, repeating both steps until the thickness was right for cutting out individual circles. The top of my right hand was dusted with flour on the side clung clumps of leftovers. I turned over a glass. It made a squishing sound as it severed the dough into raw biscuits. After I shaped as many as I could, I lumped the skinny leftover strips into a ball again. The process began anew. More rolling, more cutting.
There was something about the kneading–about working and re-working that lump. The dough felt nice in my hand. It reminded me of how much the Lord has to work and re-work me. I have many lumps. It takes a tug knead, tug and knead to shape me in the way I need. A piece of clay must become pliable in the hand of a potter in order for him to be able to make something. And the job of the pliable clay is simply to rest. The Potter does the work. When we become stiff, it only hinders the process. It restarts the process. There is such kindness in the hands of the Lord that He lets us submit and rest and trust in His love–in His ways–while He works.