LIKE CLAY IN THE MASTER'S HANDS | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: LIKE CLAY IN THE MASTER'S HANDS | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tana Craig
07/15/20
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LIKE CLAY IN THE MASTER’S HANDS

“DOWN BRUSH, BRUSH, ONE- TWO! DOWN BRUSH, BRUSH ONE-TWO!”
Sylvie’s blonde hair bounced at she tapped in time to Mrs. Hoffman’s loud commands. Lucy was not doing as well as her BFF. Mom said this would be fun, but four-year-old Lucy felt as out of place as Humpty Dumpty in a room full of Cinderellas.
“You there; chin up! Listen to my count…”

Next, gymnastics. Laughing, Sylvie turned cartwheels, leaped up and tumbled head over heels. Lucy put her head on the floor, but just toppled onto her side.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Bronson, “Your daughter has the most inflexible body I have ever encountered teaching acrobatics and dance.

By fifth grade, Lucy knew something was wrong. There was a note from the teacher.
“When Lucy played at recess, she couldn’t put her palms together. She apparently can’t open her hands.”

Lucy was x-rayed, her naked body was photographed, and vials of blood drawn for analysis. Ten-years old, she sat beside her mother. I’m a lab rat.

The specialist looked over his glasses, “Your daughter has a rare connective tissue disease; progressive and terminal, all of the organs are affected. We’ll need to take tissue samples and study her. Yikes. Unless there is a medical breakthrough, she has a life expectancy of age twenty.” I’m doomed.
“I’ll need to monitor it.” Was I ‘IT’, or was my disease? He left abruptly.

“Don’t be sad, Mom, maybe they will find a cure, or God will heal me.” Or maybe God hates me and I’m done for.

“I’m 15, Mom; I’m NOT going back. I’ve been stuck black and blue, had biopsies, now I’m not to ride.’’’ Lucy and Sylvie loved riding horses. They loved visiting each other’s churches. Lucy loved God too, but he scared her. His Son was easier to talk to.

When Lucy’s disease kicked up, leaving her in pain or giving her hot flashes, Sylvie was always there.

At age 18, Sylvie married a fellow she had known for a week. Lucy, lonely, tried college. She was taught the “Science” of evolution. She quit believing in God.

“With your IQ you should be getting straight “A’s,” the college counselor said, “Yet you’ve blown your academic probation. You can’t return here to classes.’’

I’m 21, still living with Mom and Dad, maid-of-honor four times and past my expiration date.

“Some nice man will love you for what’s inside, darling.” Lucy’s self esteem was lower than Death Valley’s annual rainfall.

Visiting a friend, the picture of a red-haired soldier caught her eye.
“Oh, He’s cute.”
“That’s my brother, Andrew. I’ll introduce you when he comes home from the army.”

Lucy opened the door. He’s cuter than his picture, with dimples,
“Hello!” Andy said, smiling. …and liquid brown eyes.
Andy had the broadest shoulders she had ever seen.
“Let’s stop by my Mom’s apartment, “he suggested, “and we can dance.”
He proposed after one week. Six weeks later they were married. She felt so lucky.

Lucy hit the door edge with a KLUNK and slid to the floor.

“You’re not hurt,” Andy shouted as the blood ran down the back of her neck. Another trip to the E.R.

At 28, Lucy delivered a son, still-born. A year later, they adopted a baby boy. Lucy wanted Christopher to have strong values, so she began taking Chris to Sunday school.

“There’s an adult class,” a gray-haired matron said, “Want to join me?’

Childhood Bible verses came to mind. Lucy remembered about Jesus’ death and resurrection. God’s love humbled her.
God’s Holy Spirit walked quietly into Lucy’s life, bringing joy and peace.

“We have to talk,” Andy said, “You have been reading the Bible, and don’t drink or swear anymore.”
Andy wanted what she had, but hardened his heart toward God.

“I never would have married you if you were like this when we met.” He screamed.
Nor I you.

Andy filed for divorce. The Prince of Peace protected Lucy and provided for her and Chris.

Soon after, Sylvie returned to Christ too. Jesus took Sylvie home last year.
I always thought I would go first, my forever friend.

“My body is still inflexible, Father, but I thank you that I have lived. Thank You, Jesus, for keeping me soft toward You, flexible in my Master’s hands.”

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Matt.18:3 NIV

Non-fiction, names changed
Word Count: 744

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