Maria loved to sculpt.
She had always relished the earthly coolness of the soft clay as she moulded it into something of beauty.
She came alive when she sculpted, and as she created would often think of the Almighty Creator, feeling honoured that He had blessed her with the ability to make something out of virtually nothing.
But her father didn't feel the same way.
He felt her sculptures were synonymous with making mud pies, despite the recognition she received from those around her. According to him, sculpting was a hobby - a pass-time, not something that was a suitable career choice.
So she became a doctor.
She liked helping people, but her heart wasn't in it. With every script she signed her passion faded, and with every immunisation administered her creativity wilted.
As she closed the door of the doctor's lounge she allowed herself to feel what had been lurking beneath for some time.
She knew she was dying inside.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt angry at herself for giving up...for choosing the easy way, the safe way, instead of standing up for what she wanted to do with her life.
The tears wouldn't stop as she thought about the years she'd lost...and she wondered if she would ever have the courage to pursue her dream.
The beep of her pager shocks her into real time, and as she reaches into her pocket she feels an ache deep in her heart.
Maria dares to whisper, "I was made for more than this."
You were made for more than this world has to offer you.
The longings you feel inside are there for a reason.
Our longings point us to the treasure we are seeking.
God is calling to our hearts, pulling us to Him.
Saying to us that nowhere will we find what we need apart from in Him.
He knows the answers, He has the resources, He has the power to fill you up.
He's available 24/7, and He never tires of hearing your voice.
I urge you to pay attention to the cries of your heart.
Let the hurt drive you to your knees - to the point where you finally open your heart and let the love of God flow through all the dry and empty places.
A bientot mes amis,