Mud Pie Masterpieces
I watched them through smudged glass, their slender hands transforming mud into masterpieces. Fingers laden with grime kneaded, rolled and dug deep the earth that had been snoozing long beneath a blanket of winter white. Where thousands of pristine snow crystals had towered one upon another, sloppy brown soil now stretched across the yard like a lazy farm cat sunning his dusty shag in midday’s warmth. The children, elbow-deep in Spring’s murky footprints, shed their heavy mud boots like snakes crawling out of their crackling old skins and swept wind-tousled hair into messy pony tails.
I slipped into my own poke-a-dot rain boots, grabbed a picnic basket full of snacks for the mud pie potters, and hopscotched across the swampy yard. I laughed at the irony of myself jumping cautiously over the source of my children’s joy–how grown-up and boring, how lackluster and practical. I longed to be like them, covered with dirty splats of inspiration, yet the mountains of laundry that waited for me just beyond the pooling puddles harnessed my frolic. The baby soon to wake from her nap bid me back inside. Reluctantly, I left the creating to my children and thanked God for the vivid reminder of His mysterious ways. The dregs of winter birth the delights of spring.
The sun dripped orange and amethyst beyond the treeline. The rare February warmth disappeared with the daylight. Six muddy hands turning red from chill lined dirt-shaped dishes in a tidy row around the fire pit. Three proud artists stepped back to admire their craft. They stood still for but a moment, smiling at their handiwork and then erupted into giddy dance.
Suddenly I pictured Holy Hands patting dust into form. Warm, eternal Breath infusing man-shape with life. Father of time and space stepping back to survey His newest creation. Heaven’s heart smiling. Holy legs jumping for joy. Hands not yet pierced applauding the dust transformed. “God saw all that He had made and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31)
I dropped the faded t-shirt I was folding by the window and slid to my knees. As the last stream of pale light cast shaky shadows across the mud puddles in my backyard, this God-breathed woman cried out to the Potter of dust and bones, “Thank you, dear Father. Thank you.”
The Overflow: “The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Genesis 2:7
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