Poetry in Pottery 2

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I held each piece in my palms, one piece at a time as if examining each piece.

“Read it out loud, ” said the potter. “what good is poetry if it is not read out loud? ” Scoffing he added, “It is no prose! ”

I picked one piece up and aloud I read :

Some things I’m going to do today
I’m going to look back tomorrow
And find them funny

Then I’ll ask God, why do I find these things funny?
And He’ll reply, ”You’re okay”
“Hmmm,” said the potter, urging me on.

I picked up another piece and again aloud I read :
Every child leaves a signature behind
A mark that says they were once here
That they had grown up there

Being upset over a child staining a sheet for example
Is as empty as getting furious over the natural order of things

 

haha “You see it? If parents are capable of overlooking the mess of their children, how much more capable is God!”

Picking up another piece, I read on :
I have often wished I could rewind tapes of time
That I could check in back in time and unsay that word

Unfall in that love or unwalk down that lane
Unbreak that certain plate or unbutton that passion, at that time

But it never happens
It is at such times that I know it is only God
Only Him can truly do all things
“And this is all my handwriting! In fact it seems I’ve been reading out my own life!”

“Did you think I would give you someone else’s life to read out? ”

I was so awed I wanted to take the pottery pieces home but I figured I already have my life.

On my way home, looking back for a second at the house , it appeared as though it was the one up for sale 😀

I blinked and saw it had been a product of my imagination, perhaps an aftermath of my magical experience some minutes ago.

A woman walked out of the house, holding up a clay jar in her arms, with a child tagging along, and I wondered if she was shown what I had been shown.

Then I thought:

Everyone gets to be taught
In a way they can uniquely understand.

Desire, Thought, Plan, Action. Where Am I In Control?

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It is in the mountains and in the air,

I see it everywhere: the trees, at school, and out and about on the trail

the heathen see power in everything, they see themselves as being in control

harnessing that power and using it for their selfish desire

Lord keep me from being a heathen

Do I make my own desires?

My Lord protects me, and My Lord does what The Father is doing

He puts His power where it is needed

He loves me when I am astray

and He loves me when I am away

He loves me right in His arms

and When I am on the path and in The Way

The Truth, The Life.

Do I make my own desires?

When I see a woman is it up to me if I want her or not?

When I see a boat for sale is it my choice to desire it?

Lord, you give me strength

You give ability and an eye that sees the world as your creation

a creation where I can bring others closer to You

Do I make my own desires?

 

 

 

 

Poetry in Pottery

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I went to the potter’s house today ( not the one up for sale :D)

When I got in, the potter welcomed me and I got to see around. Then he set colorful pots before me.

“Poetry in clay jars”, he had said.

Poetry? Was being presented to me? In clay jars? images-1I watched him set them and I found they were in the order of the colors of the rainbow. I marveled as the white light shone on them and yet they reflected different colors. (1 Corinthians 12:14)

“Select one.”

I pointed at the one I selected. I’d chosen the yellow pot.

“The Yellow Poet”, he said smiling.

The pot was suddenly raised before me and left to hit the ground in a ‘thud’. I shrieked, “But why!”

“Take a look at the jagged pieces. You’ll see how God’s strength is shown in our weaknesses.”

So I looked on the floor and at the jagged pieces. There were pieces of different shapes and sizes. I looked at the jagged yellow particles. Some were rounded and big enough to hold water. Some were just too small and yet they were an indispensable part of the entire pottery, and sharp enough to prick the sole of one’s foot. Some others were just jagged enough; not too small, not too big.

But they all had poetry inscribed on them. Poetry pieces that comforted (stood the test of time, held water), dilapidated strongholds (hit the nail on the head, pricked), and there were pieces that just fed ( preached, were for just the right time and place).

“What do you see?”

“Poetry in jagged pieces! ”

I was happy. All of a sudden I was filled with joy and I began praising God.

“You feared for the broken pottery but you forget I am the potter and I know the purpose behind the moulding of each pot. If these clay jars, for instance, are not broken, how then can you find the poetry inscribed in them?

These clay jars are the height of my beauty and power ( Psalm 139:14) but they must be broken if their real purpose is to be met.” said the potter to me.