Thursday, September 4, 2008

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.

2 comments:

Steve said...

I love this! It reminds me of a project I have bouncing around in my head because of the song 'In the Hands of the Potter'

Mrs. Needham said...

I've always loved throwing pots, something I don't do anymore. The moment when you press your fingers deep into the soft clay and slowly pull up, knowing if you press too hard you will rip the clay and if you are too soft you will have to pull at it several times. It's a great analogy for God's constant stretching of us, sometimes leaving lines in the clay to show everyone how far we can be stretched without crumbling.