A Play-Doh Creation Story

Today, while sitting in my room, I started thinking about God's process of creation. I thought of the Genesis story in which we read how God carefully crafted the shape of man. I thought of the poetry of James Weldon Johnson in which God, who was lonely, stepped down into the miry clay of a world as dark as a cypress swamp, drew forth a handful of the earth, and shaped it into the form of a man.

In my room I have a case of Play-Doh. It comes on a variety of colors, from red to white to brown. As I sat pondering God's creation of earth and humanity, I pulled the brown Play-Doh from the case and tried to form the shape of a man. I began with his chest, using my thumb and forefinger to shape muscles and a stomach. I rolled a piece into an arm, and then another arm, and then two legs. I used my fingernail to form fingers on the hands. I formed what I thought were pretty good looking feet.

Satisfied with the shape and look of the body I proceeded to work on the head. It was much harder than I thought it would be. After trying for several minutes to form a space for the nose, I finally succeeded. I laughed to myself at the ease of creating a space for eyes and a mouth. I even managed to give my little man a shapely forehead.

Even at this stage of my creation I realized my human was incomplete. I had formed only the external parts. He had no bones, no heart, no kidneys, and no lungs. My human could not breathe and he could not feel. My human had no soul. I felt a wave of disconcerting sorrow at his incompleteness. Yet in a moment I let the feeling go and moved on.

Having formed his head I decided to try to give him sight. Using the white Play-Doh with a little brown and a little black, I formed two eyes. It took several minutes to properly place them on the face, but finally there they were. I felt proud and accomplished; my man could see. But admittedly the eyes were far too large; they stared back at me freakishly. Again, I elected to ignore it.

I thought of the verse in the Psalms where the psalmist writes that God knows the number of hairs on our heads. I decided to give my man individual hairs, but after a few attempts opted for long spaghetti strands of thin black Play-Doh. It looked fine, almost stylish. But then a thought struck me. All this time, my man had been lying flat on his back. From all the pressing and prodding his backside was entirely flattened. My man could not stand. I had created a cripple. Mournfully I stood my man up. He could not stand on his own so I propped him up on the computer monitor. He stared back at me, his huge eyes angry. I couldn't blame him.

It was at this point that I realize some other things I missed. My person had no eyebrows, teeth, or ears. He could not speak, and he could not hear. What an imperfect creator I had become. I did not bother with the teeth but I quickly gave him ears. I wanted him to hear me apologize for what I'd made him but I could not let him say whether or not he forgave me, if he hated me for what I had done to him. As I moved to make him clothing, a clumsy hand bumped against his head and knocked it loose. In a matter of minutes I had become a flawed creator and a murderer. The deed was quickly undone; I quickly reattached his head. I stood him up once more against the computer monitor and let his eyes judge me for what I am: an unfit and unskilled failed creator.

The Scriptures say that we're fearfully and wonderfully made. God did not haphazardly create us in a matter of minutes; he did not skip parts because they would take too long or sloppily put together last minute additions. I could almost weep when I think of what it would mean if my creation efforts truly encompassed the full endeavor of God's. The desire to destroy my failed creation is strong, yet I look at it as a reminder of God's greatness and how my deeds shrink in comparison to his mighty acts. We are no sloppy act of boredom, crafted in a mere act of hasty creativity meant to pass the idle hours of a slow moving afternoon. We are God's act of love. Crafted in his image, molded by his hands, shaped beneath the watchfulness of his eyes, envisioned in the same heart that shaped the oceans, mountains, stars, trees, birds, and valley depths. We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I keep my dough-crafted creation as a reminder of that fact.