Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
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TITLE: Inside the Potter's Palm | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jennifer Galey
10/05/09 -
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ADD TO MY FAVORITES
a fist of soil studded in stones.  
In rubble of days You found worth,  
Your breath kindles these brittle bones.
Your fingers braid to form a sieve  
to strain purity from the mud,  
And when my lips part I believe,  
You lathered the dirt in your blood.
Black grime sifting through gaping holes,  
where nails gnawed through the Living Bread,  
piles into a pliable shape  
when softened by the color red.
Raw clay centered on spinning wheel  
of Living Word to wither flesh,  
Your promise makes my beauty reel  
when body, mind, and spirit mesh.
Your thumb presses a supple dent,  
an empty cavern in my soul,  
that leaves Your loving fingerprint,  
a womb where Your Spirit can grow.
Refining fire blows inside  
with a healing vermillion breeze.  
It chars the toxins from my pride  
and fans me gently to my knees.
When spinning days blur into nights  
and my soul is dizzy with fear,  
Your Holy Word my heart recites  
and hope is shaped from crimson tear.
Though wheel whirls in revolution  
and emptiness fills this vessel,  
in the center of confusion  
You whisper to me, Peace be Still.
You place me gently to cement  
upon the rock of salvation.  
Anoint me with a sweet rose scent  
that will linger though the nation.
Your spirit slides down angel wings  
to fill this fossil from Your hands  
And spills from a bubbling spring  
to splash Your blood in thirsty sands.
When red sun shuts its black lashes  
and basin models as an urn,  
You pluck beauty from these ashes  
and in Your palm my soul returns.
Isaiah 64:8  
Yet, O LORD, You are our Father.  
We are the clay, You are the potter;  
We are all the work of Your hand.  
(NIV)
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