Have you ever seen a glass blowing artist at work? With the glass on the end of his steel pipe, he sticks it into the belly of the furnace and as the temperature rises, the glass begins to glow.
The artist uses cast iron tools to shape and stretch the glass, blowing his own breath into the new piece as he goes through the process of turning, turning, turning, enlarging this side, tapering the other one, teasing this fragile yet molten ball into the shape he intended it to have and inserting colors at just the right moment. The artist already sees the product. He is not going to be surprised by what turns out. In fact, there is a specific purpose for every move of his hand, timing each instrument's caress and measuring every breath from his mouth. In the end, the artist's product is among the most beautiful things our eyes fall to.
I think that the life of a Godward woman is something like the creation of blown glass art. In the end there will be vases, and sculptures, and chandeliers, and beads; but do any of us know what we're going to be? When we're first sitting in that crucible, and we feel the heat rise, and we start to melt... have we any idea what the Artist is going to do with us?
If the process of blowing glass into beautiful art or vessel is likened to life, I realize that there is much change to be expected. Lots of pulling, stretching, melting, blowing, shaping. How do we handle that in relationships?
Some friends have known you since you were a lump of cold, clear glass lacking spiritual form and function. Others met you in the crucible as the heat was rising. Still more came to know you just as the Artist was blowing air into you, turning and pulling you into the shape He had seen all along.
The exciting thing about watching a glass blower at work is in guessing what he's making. As a crowd, we hold our breath while he gets started with the glass dipped from the crucible and we begin to whisper our guesses to each other, shouting our 'Eureka!' as the piece takes the form of a horse.
My heavenly Artist is working with me. He's putting His breath into me, turning me in the instruments, heating me again in the fire when I cool off too much for molding. Along the way I am guessing at what I'll be: a horse? a vase? a bead? The fact is, I don't know. My mistake is in the early declaration of what I am. Maybe I shout out, "I'm a vase!!!" and draw people to myself because they wanted a vase; but the Artist turns, pulls, and forms some more, cuts bits of glass here and there and we realize I cannot be a vase. So I keep guessing, and I keep rushing to see the polished, finished, formed work of shining art.
Here's the thing: when I see the finished piece, my mind doesn't go to the hands that made it. My first thought is, "That's amazing! Look at the shape and colors ~ so unique and amazing!" As if the glass had anything to do with it.
Maybe I should think less about what kind of art the people around me wish to have on display, and more about what the Artist, Himself wishes to attach His name to. If I let Him form me, and concern myself with responding to His instruments, then I will adorn Him, whether the onlookers admire His work or not.
