Monday, August 12, 2019

Pottery {A Poem}

The Potter's hands prod the clay
With persistent patience.

Every empty hollow,
Every strip removed,
Though painful to the vessel,
Shapes it into suitability.
What is lost
Is only
What did not look like Him.

The Potter's perfect, sure pressure
Peels nothing away
That would prove essential
To His purpose and plan.

Last Wednesday, August 7, marked the 9th anniversary of this blog. Pottery is the traditional gift for 9 years. These have been the most painfully formative 9 years of my life so far, in ways I could never have imagined when I hit “publish” on that first post. Considering how all those surgeries, bereavements, appointments, painful family situations, and other opportunities to experience God’s strength in my weakness relate to the theme of pottery led me to scribble out the above. May it encourage you also to rest in our good Potter’s hands. Thank you for reading. Your presence here is a blessing and a grace.