For those of you who have read my blog or my Facebook page during this week, you know that I recently visited Mustard Seed Studio and worked with Marian Parsons of Miss Mustard Seed to make a commercial for her milk paint line.
You can view the commercial here.
The entire experience was so much more than I could ever put into words. Her message of overcoming negative self-talk touched a cord deep inside of my heart. It seems to be doing the same with many other viewers, and I’m absolutely blessed to have been a part of the process.
The word that keeps coming to mind over and over again to describe the experience is “chosen”.
I feel chosen.
Think about it for a minute…
Picked out from among the others. Separated and acknowledged for worth, value, and determined to have a worthwhile contribution.
I really like that word.
How many times have we been looked over? Can’t we all reflect back on a time when we didn’t get selected for a job, or the person we really liked didn’t like us back, or we wave someone into traffic without so much as a thank you wave?
It feels completely awful to be overlooked. Almost like you’re blending into a sea of “everyone else” and nothing about you seems special enough to acknowledge.
Being a Christian, I have an assurance that I lean on when I feel forgotten. I remember that I have been hand-picked by the Creator of the universe to be His own special treasure. My worth is measured in the blood of His Son, not in other people’s opinions. He loved me enough to make a way to restore our relationship. There are good works laid out for me to walk in that He prepared before the foundation of the world. There’s a plan for my life. Among the billions of people in this world, He knows me. He cares about me.
I get reminded of that when I work on furniture pieces. We haul them into the shop and they don’t look like much. They’re covered in cobwebs. Their legs are crooked. Their veneer is broken. In the eyes of a creator though, they are brimming with potential. I instantly cherish them. I adore them for their quirks and scars. Their wobbly legs and cracked drawers don’t phase me.
Because they’re me.
Rusted and restored.
Broken and brought back to life.