Not a tome about practicing yoga outside on a stormy day, this musing is about those soft baked pretzels, dough that’s formed and shaped, that still is pliable though firm. More flexible than its hard cast cousins that break with a snap, this pretzel has been given an ability to bend and endure pressure put upon it. It holds fast, requiring much strength to tear it apart. It has nothing to do with the pretzel’s ability… It has all to do with the Maker of the pretzel and the ingredients thrown in.
When I think back over my life and see the twists and turns, I often feel like a pretzel, one that has more bends in it than usual. Not unlike every other person on the planet, the shape of my pretzel is unique to me, though in pretzel-land pretzels seem to look alike. So it would be if we were all stamped out from a machine. Or made by hand in only one design. Glory be that our Creator has made each of us uniquely individual. And though the world says we should fit in with all the other pretzels, compare ourself to others to be sure we are in line, the truth is each of us was created as a priceless treasure. With twists, turns, nicks and various degrees of baking and brownness, we are, every one, fearfully and wonderfully made. How glorious to think of my life as an amazing gift to me as a beloved one, rather than just me existing as a broken disqualified pretzel, one that has not measured up, that is not good enough, that is unworthy to be recognized and cherished, just another plain old pretzel.
I am a redeemed pretzel! Though humbled by that realization, gratefully I stand, by the grace of my Maker, even in the wind! Those cracks and twists let storms and gales blow though, buffing me and refining my shape. Blowing away the roughened places til smooth and sleek, I become a gleaming reflection back to God. Why do we wonder so about our identity, purpose, fulfillment, other than the fact we lost all that back when the first man and woman became pretzels. Determined to know it all, they lost their innocence and pure relationship with their Maker. They chose to listen to the grand lie that they could be makers, like the Most High Creator Himself. Sure, they were given the joy to be creative, to reproduce, but seemed to forget that all their creativity and offspring were a gift from God. And that ability was still a gift to them as they entered the broken world of pretzel-land.
So on those stormy days especially, when your pretzel shape is stretched to your limits, remember one’s true self and identity remains with the Maker. Run to Him. You are more than a mere pretzel in the wind!