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Imagine getting the command from your Master, “Go out behind the barn.
Find the dunghill and bring Me back something acceptable, beautiful that
I can put upon My table to enjoy.”
“Oh just great,” you think to yourself as you leave the mansion.
“I’m in for it now!
I’ve seen that grimy old dunghill and beautiful doesn’t even come close
to describing it.”
Rounding the corner of the barn, you almost get knocked over by the smell
as the wind changes and starts blowing in your direction. As you get closer,
your eyes start to water. Trying to breath in short shallow breaths, you get
as close as you dare. There it is. That dreaded dunghill which has been filled
with all sorts of filth from your life. Lust sits festering as does greed, and envy.
Maggots of strife and contention feast happily among the rotting decay of all
things repugnant.Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you realize
that as this pile rots, it generates an unnatural heat from within which causes
evil gas clouds of despair and hopelessness to bubble up to the surface and
hang in a fog of misery all around the area.
You think to yourself, “Why am I here???
I left this stuff long ago and now here it is again. If I didn’t know better, I’d
say that it has grown since I had last seen it. I can’t make something out of
this junk to put on my Master’s table. All of those who wait upon Him will
laugh me to scorn. The big angels at the door probably wouldn’t even let
me in and for good reason too!”
But trying to be obedient, you grudgingly take up some of the horrible
material and think what you can do to make it fit for the Master’s table.
No amount of perfume could help kill the smell and the stuff crawling
around and in it gives a macabre impression of the entire dunghill
breathing with a life of its own.
So you kneel down and in vain try to shape it and make something useful.
No matter how much perfume you use it only serves to make the whole
ugly mess even worse.
Just then you hear Him behind you. “Child, what are you doing?”
Now the tears start streaming down your cheeks freely as you know that
there is nothing you can do but tell the truth.
“I can’t do it. Nothing I try works. Everything I do only makes it worse…”
Your own sobs cut off what was about to be a long drawn out explanation.
Gently, He tells you, “Put that back.”
So you throw the evil mess you were working with back onto the pile and
just stand there staring at the epitome of sin’s futility. You watch as the
Master takes His mighty hand and using His finger, He creates a God
shaped hole right into the heart of the horrible mess before you. Your own
soul feels what He has done and it takes your breath away.
Turning towards you He holds out His hand and shows you what looks
to be a seed of some sort. With a gentle smile He asks, “May I?”
You are confused.
Not knowing what is about to happen, you reply, “What is that?”
His response sends waves of terror into your heart, “This is My life.
I want to put it into the hole I just created. May I?”
You recoil in fear at the thought of His life going into the worst you
have to offer.
You want to scream ‘No!’ but you don’t dare.
Deep within your heart, you long to have Him do it, but it just doesn’t
seem fair that He should put His best into the worst areas of your life.
But the Master has never made a mistake and you know that even
this can only work out for good.
Half-heartedly, mumbling under your breath you say, “Yes, go ahead…,”
and the tears flow once more.
Gently the Master places His Seed within the God shaped hole His finger
had made. With loving kindness He covers it over and starts to walk away.
Turning back to look at you, He once again commands, “From this dunghill,
bring Me back something acceptable, beautiful that I can put upon My
table to enjoy.” With that He walks away.
For a long, long while you just stand there staring at the horrible mess
before you. Nothing has appeared to change and you feel as though the
Master has left you in the same predicament as when you had first arrived.
But then you see it.
A small bump in the dunghill started slowly rising up to the surface.
Looking closely you are sure that there is something green breaking out
from the very heart of your worst nightmares.
During the rest of the day you watch this little plant grow.
By day, you tend and give it water from the eternal spring of life.
By night, you sleep near it, afraid that something might happen to this
precious little life. It is not a very comfortable rest, trying to sleep on the
ground next to a dunghill, but even though you don’t know what your
Master has done, you are determined to see it through to the end.
For three days and nights you tend and guard this little seedling.
You notice that as the plant gets bigger, the dunghill gets smaller.
It appears that the plant is taking all of the evil smelling corruption and
using it to grow. Then on the morning of the third day, as the sun rises
in the distance, you awaken to see that the tiny plant has now grown
into a sizable young shrub.
But something is happening.
As the sun’s light starts to warm its leaves, you see the most beautiful
blood red roses starting to open up right before your eyes!
Hundreds and hundreds of bright red roses unfold sending out an aroma
that instantly blots out the horrible stench of the dunghill!
You stand staring for a time in total awe at the sight of these beautiful
roses which move in unison to the rhythm of a holy wind.
Each petal is shining and glistening in radiance as the sun rises higher
and higher into the morning sky.
Then you hear His voice in the distance, “My child, I AM waiting…”
The sound of His gentle thunder reminds you of your original task, to get
something from this dunghill that will be both beautiful and acceptable
for His table.
Carefully you pick twelve of the very biggest and best flowers you can
find and arrange them in your hand. Yes there are thorns, but you don’t
even seem to notice them as you look at what the Lord has done.
After walking back to the mansion, you find a vase in the kitchen and
arrange the flowers with silent joy. What at first looked to be impossible
now has become a work of living art.
As you make your way towards the main dining hall, some people stop
to admire the roses you have in your vase.
“My but they are beautiful!” says one well meaning person.
“You sure are one fine gardener!”
Without any hesitation, you humbly reply, “It’s not me, it was all the
You hurry off, not wanting to answer any more questions such as,
“Where did you get them.”
You enter the main hall and set the roses upon the Master’s table.
You want to smile, but you can’t because you know from where
these roses have come.
You silently pray that nobody will ever find out.
Your mission accomplished, you turn to leave, but you see your
Master standing in the doorway.
You swallow hard as you glance back at the arrangement of flowers
you have just left on His table.
Your eyes once again fill with water as you stare at the floor,
unable to look at Him.
You know the truth of where you got the roses. But what is far worse
is that you know that He knows from where you have gotten them!
The thought of the dunghill breaks your heart with shame and remorse.
Gently placing His hand under your chin, He lifts your head, moving
your gaze upward so that you are now looking right into His loving eyes.
The tears stream down your face as your Lord and Master carefully
wipes away each and every one of them.
He smiles and says, “They are beautiful!
Well done, My good and faithful servant. Won’t you join Me for
I would just like to sit and talk a while with you My dear and
♥ ♥ ♥
♣ ♣ ♣
*Author Unknown by all but God*