In my hands, you, O nation of Israel, are just like the clay in this potter’s hand. (Jeremiah 18:6)
A mound of red-brown clay spun on the wheel. The artist felt its slippery resilience gliding through her hands and the sweet mud drew a rush of inspiration. She plunged her thumbs into the core, an elegant curve of a wall rose, and a living pot was born. In a storm of creative passion, she caved in the top, and remade the piece into a better expression of what was in her mind. She only needed to smooth off remaining lumps and engrave fine details.
I was a blob of fear and ignorance, a debased toy of the destroyer. He pushed me into whatever shape he chose by his lies. But that blunderer knows nothing of artistic mastery, and I’ve quit him.
Now I’m on the Potter’s wheel. He holds my life between his hands with tender devotion. While I yield to his touch, contours of kindness and gratitude take shape. There is joy in his heart as he contemplates his vision for me.
Unlike the inert mud, though, I have the ability to pull back and harden. Character flaws emerge, and the Potter is forced to collapse part of his work. Nevertheless, with confidence, he restarts.
I have this wrong notion that I do the work of progressing spiritually. I try to pull myself out of sinfulness and into Christlikeness. In truth, my part is to rest in his hands and let him mold me into the shape he wants. It means less of me, and more of him. Less of my opinion, and more of his will. Less of my doing, and more resting in his word.
The Lord is unwilling to abandon the vessel he has planned in his mind. There will always be lumps to smooth, and fine details to engrave on my heart, but as long as he doesn’t give up on me, I’ll not give up on his work in me.
Prayer: Perfect Creator, let me remain malleable to your work.