The Potter

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

I am brown and gray earth

Filled with stones and debris

I am a dirt clod.

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

You purify me, but I recoil,

Fearful of the pain of Your love.

You cut through the clay

Seeking out the air pockets

Vacancy only You can fill.

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

You bring my up, You weigh down on me

How can I endure?

Will I ever take Your shape?

Will I ever be perfected?

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

Suddenly, I begin to take a new shape,

Unique, as Your hands pull this vessel into being.

Such ecstasy to take on Your beauty-

Oneness with You!

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

Alas, I tremble as Your potter’s wheel abruptly stops.

I am not Your pure vessel yet.

Must I be pierced? You have found imperfection

I am off center of you

Again

I recoil

Empty spaces You find. They must be pierced

For Your loving balm to apply.

Fiat.

You are the Potter

I, the clay.

You know my impurities will not stand the fire.

“Enter through the narrow gate”

Dung Gate and Potters Gate I see.

Complete Your spinning, crafting, piercing.

Throw me into the fire at the Dung Gate.

Remove all my imperfections lest I not stand the fire!

You are the Potter,

I, the clay.

Bring me in through the Potters Gate.

Pour your graces into Your creation,

Hold me up, balance me, fill the vacancy

And use me as You will.

You are the Potter,

I, Your clay.