Without form, I was once a lump of clay
There was nothing to admire,
I was nothing to behold,
For I had not been given shape
The Potter tossed me on the wheel
and began to mold me into what He had
Designed for me to be
For hours His hands gently shaped
The beginnings of His masterpiece
Round and round I spun
Staying in the grasp of the Potters hands
Until I started to look like the Pot
Which He had designed and planned
After the wheel stopped spinning, I looked
Upon the Potters shelf
And saw that all the pots
Waiting to be finished
Looked nothing like myself
We all looked different,
Some would hold water,
Some oil or wine
But I still did not know
My purpose, at this stage in time
"So," I asked the Potter,
"What are you going to use me for?
What is your plan?"
"You will see," He answered with a smile,
"Just be willing to let Me mold you in My hands"
Round and round I spun again
Wondering when this spinning would end
Finally He stopped
and sat me on His shelf to dry
The Potter smiled at me and said,
"You will have to be patient
and wait here for a while"
For days I sat, thinking
He had forgotten about me
He was working on the other pots
And I watched as He decorated them
With such beauty
He sat a nicely painted pot,
next to me on the shelf
And I became discouraged
when I looked at myself
I looked around and saw pots,
Decorated with beautiful colours
The Potter saw my discouragement and He said,
"Don't worry; I will also decorate you
like I have the others
It will and does take time
To be molded and shaped
in these hands of Mine
Be patient and don't fret
I am not finished with you yet!"
Days later He took me off the shelf
and took me over to the fire
Then He said, "Now, This is going to be hot!
I have to leave you in here for a while"
The heat was intense, and I cried out from
Behind the kiln door
"Get me out of here! I can't stand this anymore!"
Eventually He took me out
and I cried tears of relief
I couldn't help but ask Him
"What are you doing with me?"
The Potter gave me another smile and said
"I am the Designer; there is much to do yet
Trust Me, I have a wonderful future and plan for you
I am sorry My little pot, there will be more fire
I will have to allow you to go through"
He began to paint me and glaze me
And spent much time
Giving me my own decoration
and unique design
After He had finished,
again He put me into the fire
But this time it was hotter,
And I screamed, "Let me out!
I am going to die!"
The Potter watched me through the door
I cried and pleaded for Him to take me out
Because I could not stand it anymore
He just smiled at me and shook His head
"No, My dear pot, I am not finished with you yet"
Finally the doors opened
And He took me out of the intense heat
He smiled once again and said
"You are now complete!
Now you can be used for My purpose
And fulfill the plans I have for you
Now listen carefully to
what I want you to do"
"I want you to be a flowerpot
Will you do that for Me?"
"But!" I said "I was hoping to be something more!
Like that pot sitting next to me
She was going to hold the finest oil
And the other one over there,
Said she will be used for expensive perfume,
Do you want me to hold flowers?
Is that all you have for me to do?"
The Potter looked slightly angry
And shook His head
"Who are you to question ME?
I am the Potter and you are the clay"
"You said you would be a willing vessel,
Will you do what I have asked you to do"
"Hold flowers for me, so that the people who pass by
Can smell their sweet perfume
Your purpose is no less or more than any other
You are uniquely designed, with your own decoration
And beautiful colours"
I nodded and agreed
That I would fulfil the purpose
the Potter had destined for me
He placed within me twelve roses to hold
And then He smiled and said,
"Now you are really something to behold"
You were nothing
And I made you into something
You were once a dull, lifeless lump of clay
But now you are a work of My hands
That I am proud to put on display
You are My little Flower Pot,
and I will use you
For My purpose and My plan
Because you were willing,
To be molded, and shaped,
Like Clay in the Potters Hands.
By K A Graaf
So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy. For the Scripture saith unto Pharaoh, Even for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my power in thee, and that my name might be declared throughout all the earth. Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth. Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will? Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor? What if God, willing to show his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction: And that he might make known the riches of his glory on the vessels of mercy, which he had afore prepared unto glory, Even us, whom he hath called, not of the Jews only, but also of the Gentiles? As he saith also in Hosea, I will call them my people, which were not my people; and her beloved, which was not beloved. And it shall come to pass, that in the place where it was said unto them, Ye are not my people; there shall they be called the children of the living God.
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