With a concept long before conceived, the potter one day began
molding the clay. It was to be a beautiful vase, delicate but not too fragile
while sturdy and useful, a vase not simply for display on a shelf but for water
and flowers, and more. The clay was wet and smooth, the potters hands sure and care-full.
Beginning with a lump of average size and weight, he kneaded, pressed and measured until the perfect portion could be formed into a shape to build upon. It was a fine and firm foundation. Small lumps of clay were rolled long and slim to coil around the edge of the circular base. This was repeated with each new coil pressed onto the previous one, and then smoothed inside and out. The work became a shallow dish. It was coming along fine as the work of his hands took shape, according to his plan.
He continued to build.
The process was slow,
but that which might be a masterpiece should not be rushed.
In the potter’s studio were tables and wheels that held many
vessels in various stages of progress. There were boxes and bags of clay ready
to be purposed. There were racks of shelves filled with vessels to dry, some
awaiting firing for completion. It was an enormous workshop clearly run by no
ordinary potter.
The vase was continually forming at the potters skilled
hands, lightly to smooth the rough edges and corners of the coils that built it
higher, as each marked the passing of time like the rings of a tree, or the
colored bands of rock canyons.
Wolves prowled day and night pushing in to the tables and
wheels, overturning some as the clay vessels were dashed to the floor, a heap
of useless bits, or crumpled into malformed clumps. Always aware, the potter
did not confine his work, for he most desired his vessels to be able to stand
firm and not be easily toppled.
Vultures came, pecking holes and loosing chunks. The vase in
progress had by then taken on the shape of a bowl. A bowl with holes pecked
into it, gaping defects.
The potter chased away the ravenous birds of prey and gently
stroked the jagged places. Scars were left, but the potter saw forward to the
finished work, what he alone envisioned, past the mars. He might have crushed the vase or cast it off
as defective and unlovely but chose instead to work the defect into the whole,
certain it would turn out good. More coils were added. More wolves and vultures
came, darts and arrows were hurled, and still the vase rose higher.
It had smooth places, and exposed coils too stubborn to work
after storm winds dried them. When heavy rains relentlessly pelted, the clay
vase buckled and bent and twisted and caved. Cracks formed when lightning struck.The potter righted the clay coils and
added more clay to reinforce with guides and supports, until the vase once
again regained a fine shape. Buttons were
added one by one so that a trail of them, seven in all, mended the broken places.
The vase gained height and shape and form becoming an
admirable work, always loved and promising, but now too admirable. So cherished
was the vase that the potter crowned it with a lovely flower, a rose round and
full, center front for all to see. Anyone could tell it was no common vase.
The weathered storms are visible in its lines. Peaks,
valleys and ripples cover its surface, while cracks and even holes, almost
lace-like, are interspersed within the smooth places. Supports added to shore up
weakened coils are a silent testimony of times when strength waned under the
pressure of attacks, but the potter saved, all was not lost.
His delight always was to rescue, and his expert specialty
to do so. He could work all, the wind, the rain, the vultures, the wolves and
lions, the arrows and darts, all that left cracks and holes and mars and scars,
all of it, all of what was meant for harm worked instead, for good, for no
enemy of the potter could have what he did not give, and no attack could be
fatal to what he purposed for the vessel.
Near the beautiful rose and lopsided handle of the vase, a
pocket is pressed into its side. The pocket represents secrets yet to unfold, and
secrets buried or covered, or removed as far as the east is from the west.
Bit by bit the vase has been built on its sturdy foundation
with more bits continually added, growing the vase taller and stronger. The rim
is higher on one side than the other as work progresses in stages, the vase not
yet complete.
And well it should be as the potter sees fit, because I am
the clay vase, and God, the potter, is not finished with me yet.
P.J.
But now, O LORD, you are our father; we are the clay, and
you our potter; and we all are the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8
Isaiah 64:8
Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as
a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour:
1 Peter 5:8
1 Peter 5:8
And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds
blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a
rock.
Matthew 7:25
Matthew 7:25
Being confident of this, that he who began
a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
Philippians 1:6
Philippians 1:6
