Selling without a vision
I was driving by a garage sale today and I saw a cardboard sign that said "children's play fort, $4." Next to the sign was a collection of disparate, multi-colored parts--some fabric, some metal objects, and some unidentifiable hardware. I thought to myself, "no way is someone going to spend $4 to buy a collection of random parts." While the cardboard sign was certainly a helpful description, more than a verbal description was needed. What was needed was a PICTURE. Without a picture, we couldn't even tell what the parts built, let alone what value that creation holds.
I feel like I am often that pile of random parts: a few metal rods, some rope, a window frame, a tire--a random, disconnected pile of parts that seemingly don't relate. And I don't often have a clear vision of how it all fits together or even what it is supposed to become, let alone its value. Without a vision of what we are supposed to end up as, it can be hard to tell what we are worth. It is in this murkiness that I find value in God: I see Him as a Creator with a nimble engineering mind who can imagine how the parts fit together. I look for His vision of what I can become. In that quest I find my own sense of worth.
I feel like I am often that pile of random parts: a few metal rods, some rope, a window frame, a tire--a random, disconnected pile of parts that seemingly don't relate. And I don't often have a clear vision of how it all fits together or even what it is supposed to become, let alone its value. Without a vision of what we are supposed to end up as, it can be hard to tell what we are worth. It is in this murkiness that I find value in God: I see Him as a Creator with a nimble engineering mind who can imagine how the parts fit together. I look for His vision of what I can become. In that quest I find my own sense of worth.