Poetry

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"So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him." Jeremiah 18:3&4

Old clay, dry clay; dead clay brought to life
Old ways, bad ways; all ways brought to light
Moistened, molded; kneaded by His will
On the wheel, in the kiln; Potter, please, I’ll be still.

Pressed down, patted, centered through His hand
Built up, emptied out; thrown by His command
Glossed, sloughed; trimmed of all the rough
Lifted off, fired again; Potter, please, no rebuff

Small crack, slight flaw; here we go again
Broken vessels everywhere, is there an end to pain?
Packed down, reshaped, sifted like the sand
Whirling, weeping; Potter, is this Your hand?

Purified, beautified; look what we’ve become
Precious vessels, full of Him; shining like the Son
Fervent, confident, yearning to be true
Fresh oil, new wine, Potter, please, fill us new.


"Yet, O LORD, You are our Father. We are the clay, You are the Potter; we are all the work of Your hand." Isaiah 64:8

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