The Refining Hand of the Potter

I am an unfinished vessel, perfect only in my imperfections. Flaws abound, with cracks and chips at every turn. For all purposes I was broken to the point that I was not worth restoring. A vessel covered in dirt, of no value in shape, size, or service. I was sure that I was broken past the point of being broke again, yet that is when another piece would shatter. I would see other vessels with beauty, being delicate yet strong, refined, and with adornments of such pureness that indeed they were priceless in their splendor. I would compare myself to them and see that I could never be as they were. Who would want to use a useless vessel, with scars of abuse, neglect, of hurts that were etched so very deep that the vessel would have to be totally destroyed and be remade to be of any worth? Who would want to take the time, the effort on such a tedious, never ending task? Surly no one would want this worthless piece of clay! Yet there I lay, and You picked me up with such infinite care and love, gently wiping away the surface grime. How could You see any beauty, any worth in what You held? You gathered all the pieces that had been broken and softly stroked the scars that marred me and whispered lovingly that with time You would make me new, into one of those vessels that I had seen as so beautiful, and told me I, too would be priceless in my worth. You washed me, taking away all the dirt that had hidden what lie beneath. You added fresh clay and took away some of the broken pieces, telling me I would be better if I were made new without them. Your hands wrapped around me as I turned on Your wheel, shaping and molding me into something that I wouldn’t recognize when You were finished. You smiled as you told me that some of the scars would stay, but they would only add to my beauty, as etchings that made me unique. Round and round I turned beneath Your guiding hands, knowing with each revolution that more of Your prints would be in me. At times You would bend me and it would hurt so bad, but I knew it must be done. I wanted You to add back some what had been taken from me, but You said that it was only what You put in me that would make me whole. Any brokenness added back in would take away from my wholeness and You long to see me whole wholly in You. When You added something new, I wondered if I could continue, but You assured me it was for my beauty and Your glory. The true test would come as You looked at me seeing a vessel that was almost complete, yet I must be put in the fire to be hardened, to be perfected. Without this last step the refinement would never be complete. You promised You would never leave me in the heat and when everything was ablaze around me. I could only look at You knowing You did this because of Your love for me. I cried when it hurt and You cried when I took Your shape. I smiled when I saw Your smile in my reflection. Here I am, only left wondering why You would choose to love me so much? You have made me beautiful, delicate, and strong in You. You turned my scars into the loveliest etchings with adornments that take Your breathe away. You made me perfect in my imperfections. You made me whole, new, clean, and pure. You made me everything I could never be without You. You restored me, refined me and made me all that I am today. I know that as long as I am in Your hands Potter, this clay will display Your splendor and I will be priceless to You. Potter, You have left Your eternal mark on me. As Your nail scarred hands held me and as I was turned, being molded underneath Your guiding hands, Your blood covered me. I am a piece of clay handcrafted by the Potter, refined in the fire of salvation, and saved only because of Your merciful grace. Any beauty found in me is the product of a glorious refinement of Your painstaking work that You’ve taken from someone as hopeless, someone as broken as me. I am Your reflection, Your work, Your student and You are my Master, my Artist, the Potter.

Melissa Fitzwilliam