The potter sits at his wheel
Working the clay with his hands
It is pliable and wet
And responsive to the direction of his fingers
It’s shape changes as his creative mind
Works its magic
As its contours form
The potter sees parts that need to be removed
That will distract from the beauty
Of the finished product
So he cuts the excess to perfect its shape
He continues to smoothe the clay
With his able hands
Hands rough from hard work
Hands scarred from great love
Hands guided by enormous creativity
Molding, shaping, forming, transforming
He pulls out his special tools
To carve a unique design
Specific to this piece
To give it a beauty all its own
The clay does not resist
But trusts these gentle, loving hands
To do the work that it cannot
When it is put in the kiln
For its finishing touches
And endures the intense heat
It knows it will be made stronger
In the process
The potter removes the finished masterpiece
And smiles
His lump of clay
Has become a lovely and useful pot
Made by the hands
Who saw its potential
May I be pliable in Your hands, Jesus…
Non-resistant to Your touch
Ready to be changed
Enduring the fire
Longing to be made useful
Clay to my Potter
