Hollowed and Hallowed

I am clay.
Raw earth
Dug from a miry pit.
Unprepared, unready.
Pocked and punctuated with debris.

I am clay.
In order to be useful to the potter
I must be washed and filtered
until my murky water runs clearer.
Pounded, then wedged—
readied for the wheel.

I am clay.
In order to be something more
I must be given into the potter’s hands.
I must trust and allow him to position me.
My form will not be true
if I am not centered on his wheel.

I am clay.
In order to be something else
I must be molded by his controlled pressure.
I must be marked by his chosen tools.
I must be distinguished by the touch
of his capable and skilled fingers.

I am clay.
In order to become what I am meant to be
I must be malleable to the insistence of his hands;
I must not resist.
In mercy the potter will add water
to reduce the friction of the whirling wheel
and to increase the smoothness of my texture.

I am clay.
In order to have a greater capacity
The potter’s hands will plunge--
pushing out the interior of me.
The potter will form
the walls of this muddy vessel.
He knows my walls must be

extended

expanded

elongated

I am clay.
In order to hold more
I must be emptied.
The potter will hollow me
and gently increase my capacity.
Only then can I hold
(even for a brief moment)
more of him.

I am clay.
In order for me to be more than raw earth
You must hear my prayer, O Potter!
Enable me to surrender to your ministrations.
Help me to yield to your design.
Do not allow me to hinder you
as you create in me—
A vessel for your
hallowed purposes.