O Lord . . . we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we are all the work of thy hand. —Isaiah 64:8
“This is work,” I told myself one warm October afternoon while readying the yard for winter, so I stopped, stalked into the house and phoned the local library. “May I speak to one of your researchers?” A woman came on the line and I asked, “How many leaves does a tree have?”
After several seconds of startled silence, she gasped, “Why do you need to know that?”
“I’ve been raking them, that’s why.”
Two hours later she returned my call. “Depending on the kind and size of tree, it’s fifty to one hundred thousand.”
Our ten trees are huge. Let me see—ten times a hundred thousand . . . no wonder my back hurts!
My husband found me collapsed on the couch when he came home expecting dinner on the table. “I’ve raked a million leaves today. I’m too tired to cook. I’ll just heat up leftovers.” Roland disliked leftovers (this I knew), so he suggested we eat out instead (this I hoped).
Later in the twilight, we marveled at the vibrant colors of the leaves resting in neat piles on the lawn. “God made no two alike,” Roland mused. “I’m already looking forward to next spring when He’ll replace these fallen ones with new ones. None of them will be alike either.” Then he squeezed my hand and grinned—letting me know he’d recognized my ruse—before adding, “And God will never make anyone else just like you.”
Father, thank You for making each of us unique, never to be repeated.
Submitted by Richard