God recently spoke to a friend of mine in a way that only a mother with young children could understand. I instantly connected with the Play-Doh illustration God used to impress the truth upon her heart. The connection formed from fond memories of molding the colorful clay into various shapes with my daughter when she was a little girl. I still have the Play-Doh kit from those precious days. We would roll the dough flat and press it with cookie-cutter shapes. We would form the dough into animals, flowers or jewelry, and set our creations aside to dry. We would press the dough into a noodle-making mold and watch it come out the other side. No matter which tool we used or what item we created, we always gathered the scraps, rolled them into a ball, and put them back into the container for another day.
When my friend heard from God through a Play-Doh metaphor, she wasn’t playing with her children. She was in prayer. As she met with her Creator, head bowed and eyes closed, my friend could see Play-Doh being pressed into a mold. But rather than showing her the perfect shape coming out the other side, God drew her attention to the scraps falling away, the pieces that didn’t fit through the opening, the leftovers.
My friend had gone to prayer feeling like she didn’t fit in. She carried the burden of becoming more like the other women in her social circle. She had been trying to reshape herself, to fit the mold, to become more acceptable.
By pointing out the scraps of Play-Doh, God tenderly gave my friend a picture of how he saw her. He reminded her that he had crafted her with intention and precision. He had designed her for his purposes. He had an affinity for the whole lump of clay that made her who she was.
My friend saw that by pressing herself through a mold that God had not fashioned for her, she was cutting away parts of herself—parts that God thought were fearfully and wonderfully made. God didn’t want her to lose pieces of herself in an effort to be more like other women. He wanted her to be the person he created her to be.
Shortly after my friend shared her Play-Doh testimony, I perched on a stool next to my granddaughter and helped her open a new container of the colorful clay. She handed me a lump and asked me to make a horse. I’m no sculptor, and it looked more like a dog than a horse. But my little granddaughter scooped it up with glee and made it gallop across the counter. She delighted in my creation. God is the ultimate Creator, and he wants us to embrace the masterpiece he created us to be.
Press into God. You’ll hear him speak your language.