My Grandad made me a workbench for my 8th Birthday. Believe it or not I was boyish and I loved it. Hammer handy and heart on sleeve I'd make things for the boy I had taken a shine to with the occasional gift for some other sweet someone. I then took to making rafts purely for my own entertainment. I'd make them out of kindling. They were simple, a few pieces of wood thrown together with a few nails here and there.
I'd put them in the pool and I'd watch them, for some reason they fascinated me. I pondered this today as I traced the rough outline of one from many moons before.
They just stayed afloat. With such ease, such grace, such unwavering strength. Water attempted to seep through the cracks and knew no success. The rafts would go where they were supposed to and would stand strong against the rough and tumble waters of the pool.
That's why I was fascinated. I didn't know it but they inspired me. To stand against the storm. To know what it is to be broken, to have imperfections and cracks but to not use them as an excuse to cave. To be like a raft is to be like one standing strong in the wearying weathering storms of life. The ones that happen and knock us out all too often. Consider this, you were made by someone who completely understands your brokenness, your flaws. Someone that placed you here trusting that in spite of your spaces, you will learn the rhythms and tides of grace and ultimately make it through. You'll inspire some 9 year old.