The Potter calls to you,
But you cannot hear
Your ears are filled with hardened clay
And it seems you’ll never know His voice
He thunders and it crumbles
But there’s too much between you
The Potter reaches for you
But you cannot be held comfortably
Those edges are too uneven
And it seems you’ll never know His touch
He reaches out to shape you and you melt in His sight
The Potter molds you,
But it hurts
You want to stay the same, but He starts to change you
It seems as if the shape you’ve held for so long
Is not what you are meant to be
So you say with heavy breathe and a heavier heart,
“Maker, form me.”
The Potter takes you as you are
Your rough dirty edges collide with his smooth forgiving hands
He doesn’t care about making you beautiful
He doesn’t even care to make you useful
He forms you into something better,
He makes you like Him
Who are you to be molded by the same hands that hung the stars?
To be formed by the same fingers that give directions to the waves?
Who are you that He would call to you?
That He would reach for you?
That He would form you?
That He would bring His holiness into your dirt?
He has made you like Him and you are finished.
He takes a step back
Every imperfection of your surface seems illuminated in His sight
You know how you used to look
And you’re so sure you’ll be cast aside
Counted as not worth it
But the Potter holds you and looks inward,
At the one He has made
Check out the song that inspired this post: