“Daughter, I know it hurts. But I have come to heal the wounded and to make beauty out of ashes. I still love you.”
I break into sobs, overcome by the confusion of last night. I want to believe the King, but right now, the future seems bleak without the pot I had always cherished. After I finish my spout of tears, we walk down the path together. I go through my daily duties mechanically, cautious not to bump my toe. When night falls, I find myself alone in my room again—alone to deal with the loss.
Days pass, but the King visits often, checking on my wound. His visits are often silent, but they’re precious. Sometimes we talk a bit, but usually I can’t express myself. As my toe heals, most questions fade to the background. Yes, the King loves me, I tell myself. I still do not understand why He asked for my treasure, but I am assured that He must love me, or else He would have forsaken me long ago. Yet He hasn’t given anything better, like He promised. I realize that perhaps the Master gives healing, but where is the beauty?
Then one morning, I stand in my doorway, watching other servants tending the flowers in the garden. Hearing the King approaching, I wait for Him without turning to greet Him.
“Pretiosum, are you still mourning?”
I don’t respond.
“Yes,” he continues, “had you given me that pot, it may not have broken. But my daughter, even though you still hurt sometimes, I love you. I want you to flourish. I want you to be beautiful and useful in My palace. In order to do that, you must release the past, because I’m in control as I’ve told you before. I said that I make beauty out of ashes. Here’s what I mean. This is for you.”
I know He is extending something to me. I brush away a quivering tear and turn towards Him. What I see takes my breath from me. He holds out a golden pitcher—pure gold—carved with splendid, intricate designs. It glitters in the sunlight, so perfect and lovely! I cannot speak. I can only gape at the masterpiece.
He chuckles softly and asks, “Well, do you like it?”
“Oh, Master! It’s gorgeous! It’s perfectly wonderful! But I don’t deserve it! I’m just a servant! I’ve been so ugly to You—so stubborn and bitter!”
“But it’s yours, a gift to cherish. I made it especially for you.” He places it in my arms.
Then I glimpse something on the pitcher’s base. Gingerly turning it upside down, I see my initials imbedded in the gold like a mosaic. I recognize the material as pieces from my clay pot; only the King must have painted and polished them. Shattered pieces that were broken so my rebellion would also break. I stare at the pitcher; then look at the King. Suddenly I thrust it back in His hands.
“Please, Master, how could I repay You for what You’ve done for me? About the pot, I’m so sorry I didn’t give it to you. It wouldn’t have cost me much. Forgive me!” I fall to my knees before Him and continue with tears. “Take the pitcher. Keep it where You think is best. I’m so prone to drop and break it. Besides, You deserve it, not I. It’s the best I can give to You. Take it and everything I have and use them as You please.”
Then the King whispers, “That, Pretiosum, is beautiful surrender. I wanted you to make the choice. I forgave you long ago. I did not delight in asking for your pot, but I knew you needed something else—something better. It hurt me to see you aching and confused, but I wanted what is best for you. I wanted you to learn to trust Me. I will gladly take care of this pitcher for you, for one day you will need it.”
I cannot record all that transpired that morning. That day was the most marvelous day of my life so far. If only I had known the sweetness of surrender earlier! I no longer care if my dresser stands empty, because each time I pass through the palace corridor, there on a shelf stands the exquisite pitcher among the rest of the King’s treasures and finery. I’m not even tempted to take it. I’ll wait till He decides it’s time. I will serve Him with all I have, not hoarding anything for my selfish enjoyment.
Sometimes I see Him take it down to clean it meticulously. Sometimes He lets me hold it before He places it back. One day, He may hand the golden pitcher back to me and ask me to serve at His banquet. Or He’ll send me to bring water to the sick outside the palace gates. For now, the pitcher is safest in His care.
Christ wants all of you. Is there anything you are still holding back? When you surrender what is dearest to you, He promises to give you more beautiful things than you could even imagine. Every gift and dream of yours has a purpose. But are they in His control?
Inspired to Inspire 