The Potter

As the sun rises announcing a new day to face, the screen door slams as her night guest slips out. Crushing the cigarette into the ashtray and shoving the now empty whiskey glasses aside, the woman shoves her chair back from the table in disgust. She glances around the garbage strewn kitchen and her eyes fill with tears.

Taking a deep breath she walks out to the old shed where her pottery tools lie covered in dust. The kiln sits in the corner with old rags piled high on it’s lid. Her work table has clumps of dried clay stuck to wood. Her potters wheel has cob webs intriguingly stretched across it.

Walking to the shelf she grabs a whisk broom and begins sweeping the cob webs with a vengeance while muttering to herself. She grabs a hand full of rags and furiously dusts off the work table, scraping at the old dried clay.

Once the cob webs are gone, the dust removed, and the rags put on the shelf,  she grabs a glob of clay and sits down on the rickety old chair. In almost a frenzied-like state she begins to shape the clay.

She pounds, she rolls, she furiously punches the gray clay and finally a large round ball is formed and with anger she carves out the face; the eyes with tear drops spilling down the gray cheeks. She smashes the nose and reforms it much smaller. The down cast mouth speaks of great pain and sorrow.

Poking and pulling on the clay she forms ears, then suddenly smashes them thinking they are too big. The clay face staring back at her is how she sees herself; lost, hopeless, no good, the lowest of lowest.

She doesn’t hear the squeaky door slowly open and a Man steps inside. He stands in the doorway with the sun radiating behind Him watching her. The woman raises her fist and with a loud vehement cry she smashes her fist into the clay figure she has formed.

Her head drops to her chest and her sobs rise from deep within her soul. The Man steps forward and places His hand on her shoulder. With great compassion He speaks softly, “I am the Potter and you are the clay. Here, let me show you.”

He gently pushes her aside and takes the seat. With hands of a Master He reforms the clay and in a short time the woman sees before her a new clay figure. The eyes are sparkling, the nose is pert with a smidgen of freckles, the mouth is full and smiling. Where there was a ghastly form of death, the clay figure is now filled with life.

The Man scoots the chair back, stands, and smiles at her. Tears are running freely down her cheeks as she stares at the clay form. The Man reaches out and gently runs His thumb across her tears, wiping them from her cheeks.

“I have come to give you life more abundant.” Pointing to the newly formed clay, He softly tells her. “Because you believe in Me you are a new creation.”

The woman throws herself into His arms and hugs Him tightly sobbing out all her hurt, all the pain life has thrown at her. His beard rubs her cheek and withdrawing from Him she places her hand on her cheek where His beard rubbed, savoring the lingering feeling.

She looks back at the clay form as she swipes at her tears and shakes her head in wonder. Turning back to face Him she softly states, “Only the True Potter could make something beautiful out of the mess I’ve made.”

He smiles, then quietly slips out into the new day.

(Sue’s version) Is. 64:8 and 2 Cor. 5:17

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The Praises of My People…

“The praises of My people reach the heavens and Me and My Father are pleased. We rejoice with the angels as thanksgiving is offered from those we cherish. There is much to be said for hearts filled with joy for there is so much sin and strife in the world.

Let not others rob you of the joy we give you. Stand fast on your faith for it shall carry you through the tough times. Much distention is in My church. False teachers are on the rise. Turn a deaf ear to those wolves in sheep’s clothing for they are not of Me.

Rejoice My children for your redemption is near. Your mansions are waiting and your loved ones await. Take heed of those who scoff. They are filled with lies. Their hearts are stone and eyes are blind.

Lift your voices in songs of praise and rejoice for your King is near.”

By the Holy Spirit 11-23-17

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Unrest Within

There’s a stirring in my soul. A heaviness I don’t fathom. Are the heavens in disarray or am I delusional? I can’t put my finger on the depth, but it feels deep. Lord, what is happening within me? The gloom seems overwhelming. The tears tiptoe at the edge yet will not fall.

My heart hurts, not with pain but with something I don’t recognize. A sadness for all that are lost, those who don’t know you and the depth of their loss is not just for now but forever more. How can they refuse to see? How can mankind live in a world so filled with hate and evil? You are King of kings and Lord of lords yet the earth seems to be vibrating with hatred and strife.

Is that what I feel, the earth being tilted off its axis? The deep groaning of a lost world? I don’t know how to change that. I cannot hold the world in my hands and sooth it back into righteousness. I am only one and yet you are great, you are Holy and Almighty. Can you not fix it?

The depth of the groan, Lord, is more than I can bear. It is the growl of the evil that prevails in our land. The groan of the saints as they seek your face and yet seem to go unheard for the evil out-shouts them.

Help O’ God for we are your children crying out from the depths of your love. Help us to see you in the midst of all the mud. Help us to focus on the One who knows all and will bring redemption to all who ask.

My heart cries out – ASK! but it falls on deaf ears. ASK! and we’re shot down like clay birds on a shooting range.  O’ God open the ears of the deaf. Open the eyes of the blind for our days are short and many are lost. Help us O’ Lord, for we can not reach them all.

~~~~~

Am I alone with this?

 

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