Forged: On Purpose.

I used to think if God was a blacksmith, then I was a speck in the refuse pile.
A forgotten piece of useless nothing.
But my Creator spoke a new truth into me:

“You’re not a speck in the refuse pile. You’re the thing I’m making.”

Blacksmiths don’t deal in scraps.
They take what looks useless, heat it until it glows, and strike it until it becomes something that can bear weight, hold an edge, or carry a sound.

So when He spoke this truth into me, something shifted in my bones.
It wasn’t flattery.
It wasn’t comfort.
It was identity.
It was the truth that I am not an accident of grace.

I am a work in progress under a deliberate hand.

He is the Master of crafting a Joshua Paul Richard,
and He has never once swung His hammer in vain.

Forged things don’t survive despite the fire.
They survive because of it.
Fire is their birthplace.
Impact is their shaping.
And the hand that holds them is steady.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly,
I’ve begun to feel the truth of it —
that I am not being shaped into something disposable,
but into something desired.

Something chosen.
Something He intends to keep closeby.

Not refuse.
Not leftover metal.
Treasure being formed in the dark,
gaining strength with every strike,
gaining purpose with every pass through the flame,
gaining worth because He refuses to let me remain what I was.

Maybe I don’t yet know what the final shape will be.
Maybe I’m not meant to.
But I know this much for sure:

He is not wasting His fire on me.
He is crafting something He wants.

Peace,
Joshua