dust – noun \ˈdəst\
: fine dry powder that builds up inside buildings on surfaces that have not recently been cleaned
: fine powder made up of very small pieces of earth or sand
: fine powder made from a particular substance
I look around the office, the living room, the bedrooms—there is dust everywhere. Admittedly, it’s been a couple of weeks since I pulled out the cloth and took to the flat surfaces. The house could use a good dusting. But in just a few weeks, we’ll be moving. And now we need to start packing and buying paint and planning a yard sale. The dusting will have to wait.
Dust has always been a bit of a mystery to me, floating through the air, riding on the sun beams, landing on the table with little notice. Until it accumulates, that is. One dust particle? That’s nothing. A layer of millions of dust particles all clumped together? That’s a problem.
My first chore as a young child was dusting. That’s probably why I hate it to this day. Rumor has it—and it’s possible I remember this myself—that on Saturday mornings when I was supposed to be dusting, television cartoons sang their siren song to me, and my mom would find me lying on the floor in front of the old console, dusting the television with my feet while enjoying the latest episode of The Wonder Twins or The Road Runner. Two birds with one stone?
Dust. It’s practically nothing, yet it builds up and clogs up and cakes on and obscures. Dust ruins things.
I am made of dust.
During an especially difficult time in my life when my body had betrayed me and the uncertainty of my life hung over me like a canopy I couldn’t escape, I found great comfort in knowing I was made from dust. That I am practically nothing. That I am capable of ruining things. Because suddenly, it took the pressure off. I didn’t have to have a perfect plan for my future. I didn’t have to know the cosmic reason of suffering. I didn’t have to be the answer to anyone else’s questions, either.
In the Bible, dust is a sign of repentance. It’s also a sign of humility or baseness. Dust sometimes represents the land. It often is a placeholder for the human body.
I am just dust—an accumulation of minute particles.
But God is more.
Not only is God not made of dust, He is capable of making me from dust, and you. He creates something—everything—from practically nothing. He takes ruined things and makes them whole and valuable again. But he remembers, always, that I am not more. I am just dust.
Just as a father has compassion on his children,
So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust.
Life often feels like it’s getting away from me, like tiny particles riding in the light above my head, just out of reach. Or like the accumulation of a million little things growing on the flat surfaces of my life. I can’t get to them all. Dust settles in and builds up and cakes on and obscures, threatening to ruin everything if I let it. I hate dust.
But again and again, Jesus reminds me that he doesn’t. He doesn’t despise the dust, because He is more, and out of the dust, he raises up beauty and hope. In me, in you, in us all.
WORD COUNT: 552
Today, I’m joining Ed Cyzewski’s synchroblog for the release of A Christian Survival Guide: A Lifeline to Faith and Growth by answering this prompt: ‘What saved your faith?’ Not only is this word “dust” on my mind this week, it truly is what saved my faith several years ago when suffering came seeking to steal it.
What saved your faith? Write a blog post answering that question and then visit www.edcyzewski.com to learn how you can join the synchroblog or to read additional posts to celebrate the release of Ed’s book A Christian Survival Guide, which is discounted on Amazon.
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