The blacksmith chooses a chunk of metal. A baby takes its first cry.
The blacksmith starts to heat the metal and pound on it with his tools. Mama starts to teach, “No, baby, don’t touch the hot stove.”
The metal bends and stretches. The blacksmith’s brow has beads of sweat. Mama is on her knees praying through tears. The child grows some more and learns.
The metal is beginning to take a rough shape, starting to look like something usable. The child is becoming more responsible, more capable.
A few more pounds with a hammer, a smile breaks out on the blacksmith’s face. The piece is really taking shape now. Mama is so proud of the young person her child is becoming.
Now it is time for the rasp. The blacksmith files across the metal with vigor. Will she ever survive the teenage years? Mama prays constantly and leads gently now, a suggestion here, some careful advice there. Life itself is now polishing her child.
The blacksmith is finally satisfied. He takes out his metal stamp and imprints his sign on his work. She can’t believe the years have flown so quickly. Her child is ready to leave. She is so thankful; it is not her stamp on their heart, but the Master Blacksmith’s very own name imprinted there: God.
“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10