Unfinished, But Held

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about how uncomfortable growth actually is.

Not the polished version of growth we like to post about afterward.

Not the version where everything suddenly makes sense and wraps itself into a beautiful testimony.

I mean the real version.

The version where God is actively changing you while parts of you are still grieving who you used to be.

The version where healing feels messy.

The version where your behavior exposes what you still believe about yourself.

The version where transformation feels deeply unfinished.

And honestly, maybe that is why Ephesians 2:10 has been sitting so heavily on me lately.

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.” Ephesians 2:10

I have read that verse before, but this time one word completely stopped me.

“Workmanship.”

In the Greek, the word is “poiēma.”

It is where we get the word poem.

That alone almost made me emotional because poems are not rushed.

They are intentional.

Layered.

Progressive.

A poem unfolds line by line.

And maybe that is exactly what God is doing with us.

Not mass producing people.

Not forcing instant perfection.

But carefully, intentionally forming something meaningful over time.

A masterpiece progressively produced.

That changes the way I view my own inconsistencies.

Because if I am honest, one of the hardest tensions in my life lately has been the space between who I was and who I know I am becoming.

The familiar version of me still tries to pull on me sometimes.

The version shaped by survival.

By insecurity.

By performance.

By trying to earn worth.

By constantly adapting to environments instead of resting in identity.

And I think that is why the enemy fights identity so aggressively.

Because confusing identity eventually controls behavior.

I become consistent with whatever version of myself I truly believe.

If I believe I am unwanted, I will behave defensively.

If I believe I am behind, I will live anxiously.

If I believe I must prove myself, I will exhaust myself performing.

My behavior always reveals what I actually believe somewhere deep down.

That realization has been difficult for me lately because I have had to confront how many old narratives still quietly exist underneath the surface.

Narratives telling me I am not enough.

Not intelligent enough.

Not qualified enough.

Not doing enough.

Not becoming enough fast enough.

But Jesus constantly speaks identity before behavior.

Chosen.

Beloved.

Holy.

Set apart.

His.

Not someday.

Now.

And maybe spiritual growth is learning how to agree with God faster than we agree with insecurity.

But if I am honest, that process feels incredibly non linear.

Some days I feel deeply grounded in truth.

Other days I feel fragile over things I thought I healed from years ago.

And maybe that is why this part of my notes hit me so deeply:

Spiritual growth requires learning how to manage my realities and inconsistencies in a way that when I fall short, I do not fall off.

That is such a different mindset than perfectionism.

Because perfectionism treats failure like disqualification.

But God treats transformation like process.

Jeremiah 18 has been giving me language for this lately too.

The clay became marred in the potter’s hands.

Marred meaning distorted.

Damaged.

Misshapen from the original intention.

But the story does not end there.

The potter stays with the clay.

That part matters to me deeply.

Because the question is not whether I have been marred by life.

Of course I have.

Disappointment marks people.

Rejection marks people.

Loss marks people.

Betrayal marks people.

Performance based living marks people.

The question is whether I am still willing to stay in the Potter’s hands while He reshapes me.

Whether I will stay on the wheel long enough for God to continue forming what pain distorted.

And lately, I have realized God uses more than just comfort to shape us.

He uses Scripture.

The Spirit.

Saints.

And suffering.

Scripture confronts and renews me.

The Spirit convicts and guides me.

People sharpen and expose things in me.

And suffering reveals what still needs healing.

I wish growth only happened through beautiful moments with worship music and answered prayers.

But some of my deepest transformation has happened through disappointment.

Through interruption.

Through seasons where I felt hidden.

Through prayers that felt unanswered.

Through exhaustion.

Through realizing I cannot heal myself by trying harder.

Even Jesus often worked miracles through interruptions.

That has been challenging me too because I like structure.

I like plans.

I like certainty.

But sometimes interruptions reveal the difference between my priorities and God’s priorities.

Sometimes the interruption is the ministry.

Sometimes compassion matters more than efficiency.

And maybe that is part of becoming more like Jesus too.

Not just becoming spiritually informed.

But becoming emotionally available to people.

Lately, I keep coming back to this thought:

I am not trying to invent purpose.

I am trying to stay close enough to God to follow it.

Because purpose is not really about striving.

It is about attention.

And maybe one of the greatest hindrances to purpose is not lack of skill.

Maybe it is lack of surrender.

Wanting control more than formation.

Wanting arrival more than obedience.

Wanting certainty more than trust.

But the truth is, this is not the final version of me.

Thank God for that.

Because there are still places in me learning how to rest.

Still places learning how to trust.

Still places healing from old narratives.

Still places being reshaped by grace.

And maybe that is not failure.

Maybe that is exactly what it looks like to be His workmanship.