2 Corinthians 4:7
“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.”
Hey God,
Earthen.
How would I describe that?
Weak. Tired. Needy. Busy. Lively…
My body—human and earthly.
Fragile in ways I feel more than I can explain.
Then as I read your Word (2 Cor 4:7) I paused at this line:the excellency of the power…
Does power have excellence?
Isn’t power just… power?
I want to laugh and say I’m overthinking it—
but am I really?
Because every time I read this passage,
I arrive there and stop.
Like my heart catches on those words
and refuses to move on.
Yesterday evening, I asked You quietly,
How can this be true in my life?
And then a phone call I was anticipating came—
I had rehearsed my answer,
Yet when the question was asked,
it split something open in me.
Two very distinct parts of who I am.
Two answers.
Both strong.
Both true.
And somehow worlds apart.
Wasn’t I meant to stand on Your Word?
Wasn’t integrity enough?
Wasn’t conviction supposed to feel steady?
So, I answered from my heart,
honest and firm.
But when the words left me,
they felt hollow.
Like a drum—
tympanic and empty—
when I had hoped for resonance.
So, I grew quiet. And I listened.
If this is not enough, then what is?
I could let the other side win.
Give in. Let go.
Live.
Isn’t that what they call living?
But then the tug of war returned.
And I saw it more clearly.
My strength left to itself, shifts like sand.
Because I am here—held inside this earthen vessel.
Clay and breath.
Fragile and wanting.
And again, I ask You—What does it look like
for the excellency of my power to be of You?
And like so many of these entries,
I don’t have an answer.
No revelation.
No grand conclusion.
Just this ache.
And my need.
Maybe that is where excellence begins.
In returning. In dependence.
Maybe holy strength is not found in feeling unwavering and certain.
Maybe it is choosing You again—
with trembling hands
and a heart still searching.
Tomorrow I still have to give a final answer
to the question I was asked.
And this time, Lord,
let the power to stand by my answer be from You.
Even if my hands tremble.
Even if my voice shakes. Even if the vessel feels
far too fragile for treasure.
I’ll come back and write
how it goes.
But for now, I think I understand
just a little.
With You, even language becomes holy.
Even grammar becomes poetry.
Words I once skimmed past
become threads in Your hands—intricately woven,
then gently unravelled right on time.
And now I see it.
Power can have excellence.
Because when it comes from You,
it is more than force.
It is holy.
Beautiful.
Steady.
It bends low enough to dwell in clay—
and shines so brightly there that the vessel can do nothing
but whisper:
This was never mine.
This was always Yours!
~Sonia Kabare