Isaiah 64:8 

8 Yet, Lord, You are our Father.
We are the clay, and You are our potter;
we are all the product of Your labor.

 

You Are the Potter and I’m in the Way

I remember the first time ...

 

You started to mold and make me

after You brought Life to my spirit

You took some clay to knead and squeeze

the lump I was … without any merit

 

You had a tray of pure clean water and a wheel

that swirled within Your foot’s control

You wetted Your Hands and started to form me

as Your Father wished to make me whole

 

I was flawless white … when You baked me

in an oven Your Heart prepared before time began

You cooled me down to display in Your Temple

me as a vessel of honor before God and man

 

Often in tears You returned to take me back

to the Potter’s house where the oven overheated

and there You kissed me before You dropped 

and scattered me into a thousand pieces

 

And there broken hearted with a contrite spirit

You again kneaded and squeezed my clay

it was so hot as the wheel was turning

to form me again for another day

 

There again a bowl with clean pure water

but now the Potter’s face dripping with sweat

He put His hand in the pure clean water

to start the process to prepare my rest

 

Once in a while when He was forming

the one He thought I ought to be

He wiped His brow as He was working

as traces of Him were formed in me

 

Gone the pure white but scarlet stripes

appearing in broken strands on my surface

His own blood He sweat for me

seem to break the pure I thought I’d be

 

 Again I am baked in the oven

 and afterwards carried to the Temple

A place of honor there prepared

to show me as a reformed sample

 

Broken and broken … again and again

Scattered to pieces from bottom to brim

An unusual Way to show His Love

in preparation for me to serve Him

 

I hope this keeps on going

Turning more from pink towards red

To be in time completely changed

until a little white in red is set

 

It seems that as temporal time passes

He forms me just with the sweat of His brow

Gone seems the tray of pure water

as I cling to His Heart in love somehow

 

To be fully drenched and covered

with no traces of white in sight

To be so completely changed

throughout the years of my twilight

 

To be picked up a final time

from the temple not my home

to my final destination

to stand in Christ before the Throne

 

Jan Wienen