I Am Dust

I am dust.

When I look at myself naked, I see a body I haven’t taken care of. Skin stretched over an intricate machine God built to house my spirit — kept alive by His sustaining breath. What a marvel that this pile of dust is also a home for His own Spirit.

And that Spirit strives with me.

But this body? Flesh and blood, with a consciousness striving to find meaning. Covering itself with clothes and the personas I hide behind to insulate me from a harsh world. To help me pretend, one more day, that I am something.

And when I look at this skin-covered machine, I see a fragile temple wasting away, waxing old. A machine I probably don’t consider enough. Don’t thank enough. Don’t honor.

I am dust. Organic matter, beautifully designed for one purpose — housing this spirit. This life.

Me?

Lord, help me honor You with my body in the short time You’ve granted me here.