A poem based on Romans 9:21
As clay am I to you O’Lord and you are the potter.
Not always have I known this.
Yes, from the ground I came, as clay itself does,
But because of the cunning creature living on his belly, I was dry and un-moldable,
I was unaware I was even dry, but with your help I became aware of my need for water, for your living water,
You, because of you and your water, your living water has made me new.
I am shapeless and formless and am yours to mold.
To form me you pull, pinch, undo and redo until I get into the shape you will for me.
Sometimes I loose form because I am unwilling, but your water keeps me new and you NEVER give up on me.
Sometimes the molding hurts. All that pinching and pulling and spinning, especially as you put me through the fire to test me, hoping I’ll keep my form, but sometimes I forget what you have made me and I act like I’m not new. But you never give up on me.
When I accepted your precious gift of life, I was saying to you, begging you, to make me new.
I pleaded with you to save me from decay, from myself and my own selfish desires.
I had become comfortable with the dust and the cracks and that I was falling apart at the slightest breeze.
You saved me and I am forever yours to do with as your loves requires.
Mold me, form me: I know it will hurt but I keep my eyes on you. I keep my eyes on the never-ending horizon of eternity. I want to enter your house and be with you forever.
Make me as you are, love, all love.
Mold me, form me, but I pray, never stop loving me.