The Potter and the Clay

Make no mistake, there's never been a day in my life that I considered myself as the beautiful vessel. I've considered myself an adequate vessel for accomplishing some things in my life- the common vessel that's referred to in Romans 9- academic kinds of things, service kinds of things, productivity at work kinds of things. You get the picture.

So when people start using words like beauty.
Fearfully and wonderfully made.

I have two responses.

One is humor.
And I'm really good at it.

The other is shut down.
And I'm better at it than humor.

Did I mention that I'm sorta funny.

Last night at small group the devotion centered around Jeremiah 18 ... The Lord told Jeremiah:

Go down to the potter's house and will I give you my message. So I went down to the potter's house and i saw Him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands, so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

Describing a moment during a retreat she had attended, Anita described a scene of the potter fashioning a beautiful vase, and just when the outward appearance seemed to be perfect, the potter took what he had created with his own hands and smashed it. Gasps echoed as the vase was seemingly destroyed and the potter began the process again. Taking the lump of clay, he patiently began creating it into the thing that he had purposed in his heart.

She reminded us that the potter had created something that looked good on the outside but the potter could see on the inside ... he could see the weak spots ... he could see the marred spots ... he could see the parts that had been compromised by the elements. Things that weren't evident to those looking on in a cursory way.

It was at that moment in her thoughts that I stopped breathing. That my heart caught in my chest. That my thoughts began to race more quickly than I was comfortable allowing.

You see, I forgot my Bible and notebook last night. Well, in reality, i just ran out of time to go back to my house after going into the crazy five o'clock traffic! But that meant that I didn't have those things that make me feel most secure. I love a good notebook ... with lots of pages to fill in ... with lots of lines to hold my frantic notes. You see, when I take notes it accomplishes two things ... I can disconnect- I hear, I write, I move on ... the faster I write, the more I write ... the less I ingest ... and consequently the less I digest.

 It's a little like spiritual bulimia.

There's the appearance of eating the meat.
I look like I'm taking it all in.
The reality is that I'm spiritually deficient in some ways.

And the Potter of my life knows that. He sees inside and knows where life has created weak spots. He knows where my circumstances have compromised the integrity of this vessel. He knows where the elements have worn on my soul.

Sin that has marred the condition of my heart.
My. own. sin.
The. sins. of. others.

Damaging in ways that need to be mended-

ironic isn't it?

the outcome of sin on the human soul seems to be the same whether one perpetrated it upon themselves or someone else did it

My sin requires confession.
The sin of another requires forgiveness.

Both require my participation- fully. Both require God's intervention- fully.

I'm trying to make peace today with the 'squashing' that's taking place. Trying to be thankful in the molding. Trying to see His hands since clearly according to Jeremiah, they never leave the clay behind.  
My eyes are having trouble focusing on the reality that He could ever make something useful or beautiful from this lump of clay.

Maybe it's the pink eye ...