Of Clay

Many years ago I bought some beautiful pottery in a shop in Central Virginia that sold local artists' work. I was young, foolish, and selfish, and used the excuse,"I could never pick just one; I love each of them," to come up with creative ways to pay for these lovely and useful pieces of art.

When I left the shop, my arms were full of pottery. I partially justified my purchases with the thought that they would be good reminders of some of my favorite Bible verses and promises. Each one is hand-painted, three with verses and one with different names of God around the wide rim.

A few years later one of the pieces fell from a plate-holder on the wall onto Michaela's head and broke; she was a hard-headed little girl. Just kidding. It broke when it hit the floor. Her head likely saved it from being shattered though, and we gathered the busted bits as well as we could and eventually Mike put it back together for me. (As far as we know, there was no serious injury to Michaela from the incident.) Not even two weeks after Mike fixed my dish, a small drinking glass fell out of our cabinet in the kitchen and crashed into the bowl with the names, which was on the counter housing fruit. A piece had broken off where the glass and the pottery had met.

Ironic was the word that came to mind when that happened. I have often felt guilty for buying all four things rather than using a measure of self-control and choosing one. I have enjoyed them through the years and see them every day since they are in my kitchen. Today as I rearranged and cleaned up in there, I hand-washed two of my treasures, one of which was the bowl with the many names, now missing a piece of the word Redeemer.

The other pottery I washed is a pitcher fully intact and has verse 33:6 from Job.

My beautiful busted bowl and the verse on the pitcher which says,"I too was formed from a lump of clay," remind me all the time that I have a humble beginning but that this is not the end. I am busted up myself, an imperfect clay vessel; being made of dust is always taking its toll. Yet even a broken clay bowl can serve a purpose and be valuable. 

That which seems missing isn't truly missing. My Redeemer is not missing at all. He's coming, all along he is on his mission to save. The pieces? They are held tightly in the steady hands of the Master potter. His wheel is spinning, he's molding and shaping. Lovingly, he's creating some beautiful new vessel. This is the verse on the other bowl that I have: "So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do." Jeremiah 18:3-4

Clay doesn't seem all that special, but when an artist takes hold of such ordinary material, he can make something extraordinary, something magnificent. Won't it be wondrous to behold?