Work of Art

We had a snow day yesterday—offices and schools closed. All because of about an inch of snow. I stayed home and puttered around with domestic tasks, and loved it. Listened non-stop to CDs, both music and messages. Jeremy had left a CD with two messages on intimacy with God by Francis Chan, his favorite speaker. I finally got around to hearing it, and it’s a keeper.

One of the songs I heard was “Work of Art” sung by Shannon Wexelberg. It beautifully expresses my prayer, so I’ll quote it here.

You are the Potter and I am the clay
You are the Artist and I am the paint
You are the Writer and I am your song
I will be your instrument my whole life long.

Mold me and change me
Color me in shades of You, in shades of You
Play me, Sing through me a melody
So when they look at me they will see who You are

You are my Father and I am your child
An empty vessel and You are the fire
All that You are, Lord, is all I desire
Master, Creator, take my life.

Mold me and change me, color me
In shades of You, in shades of You,
Play me, sing through me, a melody
So when they look at me,
They will only see Who you are.

Create in me Your work of art.

Yesterday I felt well, though I wore all day the usual “day-after-kemo blush.” I think it’s gone today. The weather warnings were severe for this morning, but although it’s raining it doesn’t look icy. We’ll see if the offices open today; I hope they will.

I got an email from a friend saying that she always prays for the friends in crisis that I mention here. What a comfort that is!

Love,
Carol

P.S. Maybe it’s time for another blonde joke. If you hate them, stop reading now.

A noted psychiatrist was a guest at a blonde gathering, and his hostess asked him to tell how he detects a mental deficiency in someone who appears to be completely normal. “Nothing is easier,” he replied. “You ask a simple question which anyone should answer easily.”
“What sort of question?” she asked.
“Well, you might ask, ‘Captain Cook made three trips around the world and died during one of them. Which one?’”
The blonde thought a moment, then said with a nervous laugh, “You wouldn’t happen to have another example, would you? I must confess I don’t know much about history.”

(I should explain that I have nothing against blondes. When my hair fell out, I started wearing blonde wigs and friends started sending me blonde jokes. Laughter is healing, so that’s my excuse.)