More times than not, I find it in the box of cleaning rags. But, it’s not a rag, it’s my towel. My favorite towel.
Yes, you could probably read a newspaper through its frayed fibers. And, sure, its edges are unraveling. But it’s the one I want when I dry my hair because it’s perfectly suited for what I need. I don’t want to balance a three-pound bath towel on my head while I put on makeup.
My dear husband does the bulk of our laundry. He puts away the socks, the t-shirts and other assorted items that are washed with the towels. The cleaning rags he puts in a box on the shelf above the washer. The remaining towels are simply left in the laundry basket on top of the dryer. After all, it’s just as easy to grab them from there as it is to fold them and put them on a shelf.
So, I rifle through the basket in search of my ever-shrinking towel, and after a couple of minutes of fruitless digging it occurs to me. Check the rag box. There it is; my towel that’s not a rag.
This morning when I grabbed it from the rag box once again, I considered how different people see things differently, and value things differently. My towel has great value to me. It took hundreds of washings and dryings to reduce it to a manageable size. I see it as irreplaceable. My husband sees it as a rag.
It made quite an impression on me this morning, my rag of great value. I had just finished my quiet time when I grabbed it and headed for the shower. An internal battle brewed during my quiet time, as it has for weeks. I’m battling something I believe God is calling me to do, and my doubts as to whether or not I can do it. You see, I’m told I need a platform. I don’t have a platform.
I’m working on a book proposal. I’m learning to write a book proposal. I’m researching every facet, what it should contain and how it should be written. Some resources recommend a few optional sections, but most contain a half-dozen or so in common.
There’s the Overview. There’s the Market. There’s the Chapter Outline. Sample Chapters. The Author Bio. Then, there’s the Platform.
Oh, the Platform.
Here’s what my research has taught me about a Platform. It’s how many people I know, and who I know, and who will potentially buy the book I’m proposing. It’s a compilation of all the things I’ve done. My unique blog visitors. My website page views. My Facebook followers. How many articles I’ve written for major publications.
Well, guess what? I don’t know that many people, and I don’t know who will buy my proposed book. My unique blog visitors are few. The same goes for my website page views. Facebook followers: minimal. Articles I’ve written for major publications? Really?
I have no platform. I need a platform, and I need one now. The realization sent me into full-blown Platform building mode. That lasted less than a week before I realized it simply wasn’t going to happen. Besides, during that time I hadn’t written a single thing for God.
It had all been about me. And my Platform. God gave me that full-blown realization when He led me to a particular Bible verse, for the second time in a matter of days.
The love I had at first. My love for writing the words God gives me to write. My love for God Himself. I had put it all aside to set myself up on a platform, because I saw myself as insufficient. I saw myself as a rag.
This morning God showed me the value in rags.
God has chosen what is insignificant and despised in the world — what is viewed as nothing — to bring to nothing what is viewed as something. (1 Corinthians 1:28, HCSB)
I’m not a three-pound, fluffed up, designer bath towel. That’s not what He requires for the job He’s given me. He requires one who’s been through the wringer a couple hundred times. He requires one who’s been tumbled upside-down in scorching heat, only to be left bone dry. He requires one with some transparency. And He finds those qualities irreplaceable.
All He requires of me is to do the thing He has called me to do, and it’s not Platform building. He’ll do that. He’s the Carpenter.