Now in a large house there are not only gold and silver vessels,

but also vessels of wood and of earthenware,

and some to honor and some to dishonor. 

Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from these things,

he will be a vessel for honor,

sanctified,

useful to the Master,

prepared for every good work.

2 Timothy 20,21

NASB

Many years ago my grandmother cleaned out her dining room hutch and passed a box full of silver on to me. My mother didn’t want it for the same reason Great (her nickname once the great grandkids were born) was giving it away: too much trouble.

I’ve always loved anything shiny and glittery and in any way nostalgic, so I took that box into my hands with glee. Shined up and beautiful, I put each item on a shelf and pulled them out to use over and over again.

That was 20 years ago at least. I’ve gotten tired of all that shining, let the pretty things tarnish and turn dull. Gotten used to less beauty, comfortable with the grey.

And then this morning it bothered me. I have no idea why, but that teapot just seemed pathetic sitting there. It looked old, but not in a good way. Just old.

And so I ambitiously got out the polish, dirtied my hands, and gently wiped the grim away. It took all of about 10 minutes to get it clean, even after I threw in every silver thing I could find sitting out.

Ten minutes.

And while I was smearing the pink polish and rinsing all that ugliness away I wondered just a little about me.

My soul. That part of me that gets grimy and dull. Put on a shelf and ignored because its just not pretty.

Who wants to have a tea party with an ugly teapot?

And it takes so little time to shine my soul up. Really. Just a little pink polish: a mixture of confession and repentance and humbling myself enough to submit to the gentle cleansing of my Master.

I put myself in front of Him and say, I want to be clean again. I want to be pretty. Shiny, lovely. Do what You must. Please.

And then I just sit at His feet and listen as He tells me what to let go of. Things like perfectionism, self-pity, worry, resentment… and He washes those dulling things all away. So softly. So kind.

And I like how I feel when He’s done. Not scrubbed and rubbed wrong, but loved and embraced and relieved of the scum so I can be me.

The real me. The me He made me to be in the first place. That me.

I feel useful once again; bright and shiny and waiting to be filled and to pour and to delight.

In ten minutes.

From my heart,

Diane