The Process of Refinement

Like a lamp,
The Master planned each of us
With His grand design.
~"When He Comes for Me,"April Meservy

Imagine yourself as a clay lamp in the hands of a skilled craftsman. He shapes you and molds you carefully, tenderly converting you from a plain old lump of clay into something beautiful. Perhaps he decides to let one of his apprentices take up the job, and that apprentice, trying hard to emulate his master's skill, puts just as much care into shaping you as the craftsman did. At times, the craftsman places his hand over the apprentice's, guiding the shaping process with such an attention to detail that it astounds even you. You thought you were a lovely lamp. You liked the shape you were. But the apprentice, under the guidance of the master, alters your shape ever so slightly, and you find yourself an even lovelier shape than you were before.

Just as you are about to thank him for his efforts to beautify you, there comes a sudden piercing pain as the apprentice picks up a sharp tool to etch you with the designs that will make you utterly unique. Even as you're crying out in agony as the tool carves deep lines into your shape, you tell yourself that someday, somehow, it will be worth it.

Then, almost as suddenly, the pain stops. Though you can still feel the remnants of the pain, you sigh. But the apprentice gets up and walks away, barely stopping to look back at what he's helped to create. And then, you find yourself lifted and cradled ever so gently in the master's hands. For a brief second, you feel completely safe, and wonder if you're done now.

If only. Searing heat envelops you. Flames lick at your vulnerable sides. Agony. Pure, mind-numbing, all-encompassing agony. Any tears that you could cry evaporate into nothingness, barely providing any relief at all. You scream out for relief, begging your master to make it stop, to turn it off so that you don't have to feel the pain any more. You've reached your limit. Surely the flames will destroy you. And still, the master looks on, his eyes combing over your every detail as the heat continues to sear you to your very core.

How can you bear it? This must be your end. Abandoned by the apprentice, and knowing that the master is only looking on, you wish the flames to simply overpower you. Yet remarkably, you withstand. The details etched by the apprentice grow more and more permanent, your shape more defined. You feel yourself solidifying, feel yourself becoming something much stronger than mere soft clay. The master's eyes gleam with approval and at last, he turns off the heat and pulls you out of the fire, cradling you in his hands as he surveys you lovingly. Still shuddering from the memories of the fire, memories you're sure you'll never be able to erase, you realize that you're very different from what you were before. Something better. You are solid, fixed, molded into the shape the master had planned for you. You can now serve him as a vessel for his light-giving oil.

Does this mean you're done? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The master may see fit to paint you and fire you again. Who knows? But you've come through one ordeal, and you know this: whatever else the master does to you, it will only make you more beautiful, more functional, and better equipped to serve his needs. Because the master never molds an imperfect lamp. And as you look around you at the other lamps, you realize that each and every one of them is stunningly beautiful, regardless of what stage they are in.

It may not be too hard to guess what this story means. I write it because I'm living it. My apprentice, my friend who has so tenderly helped to shape me, has both carved and left, leaving me to be placed in a furnace of refining heat that is both excruciating and defining. A part of me wants to hate the apprentice for leaving me to be placed in the furnace. Couldn't he have shaped me for a little longer? But nevertheless, he has shaped me and made me more beautiful and serviceable than I was before. He is only the apprentice, after all. The master knows when the apprentice's work is done. And so I am required to face the searing heat instead of continuing to be molded.

I don't know when the master will be finished refining me. I may be painted and fired again. Perhaps I'll be filled with oil and given to another apprentice who uses my light to create new lamps. I may be worn down by years of serving the creation of other lamps and have to be re-shaped and added to by the master.

Whatever is in store for me, I am grateful for what I've been through. Yes, the lines etched into my heart are deep and permanent. Yes, the pain is enough to make me beg for release. But without Tevan, without the Lord's watchful guidance, without the refining that only comes from experiencing anguish of heart, I would be much less than I am now. The only feeling I wish to express right now is gratitude. Thank you. Thank you for being the set of gentle hands acting under the Master's supervision to shape me into the lamp I need to be.