Molded As Clay

Last night I sat on the porch and listened to the locusts hum and the middle brother make the guitar sing with tunes such as Seminole Wind and Country Roads. Tonight I’m sitting at Jitters until his Driver’s ed class is done. No complaints – with a LaJitt frappe and Turtle muffin [free thanks to nice people who give me gift cards ;)], Bible, journal, book, and free WiFi to occupy me – don’t think I’ll be bored anytime soon. 😉 (And Mr. Martin just brought me a piece of his wife’s birthday cake :))

The phrase  “Cause the potter knows the clay” has been going around and around in my head the last couple weeks. At first I wasn’t really sure why. I’ve only heard that song once in my life – way back in February at South Carolina prison crusades. But it will not leave my mind. I keep thinking of it. Over and over.

Okay God, I get it.

Ever wonder why God doesn’t just give up on us?
Small, undeserving weak humans that we are.

   But the Potter knows the clay
  How much pressure it can take
  How many times around the wheel
  ‘Til there’s submission to His will
  He’s planned a beautiful design
  But it’ll take some fire and time
  It’s gonna be okay
  ‘Cause the Potter knows the clay 

The tears that Annie shed, and the way that her voice broke when she sang “It’s gonna be okay” stick in my mind. ‘Cause when we’re in the fire, when we’re feeling the pressure, when we’re being molded and formed – it doesn’t feel very nice. It’s lonely, it’s painful, it’s uncomfortable.

It’s okay to struggle. Cry. Ask questions.
As long as we’re not losing sight of Him.
The One who is molding and making us.
Because the Potter knows the clay.
And it’s going to be okay!

I love that.

“Yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, You are the Potter; we are all the work of Your hand.”
(Isaiah 64:8)

“Woe to him who quarrels with His Maker, to him who is but a potsherd among the potsherds on the ground. Does the clay say to the Potter, ‘What are you making?’ Does your work say, ‘He has no hands?'” (Isaiah 45:9)

Trust Me, my child, He whispers.
How often do I break His heart by trying to go my own way?
Running, hiding, doing it myself.

So often I am like the clay who quarrels with his Maker –
“What do you think You’re doing??”
“Why are You making me into this kind of pot?!”
“Why must I be refined in this _____ area?”
“I don’t WANT to be this shape.”

Whiny clay we are sometimes.

May we be as soft and pliable in His hands, as clay in the hands of the Potter.
Willing to be molded.
Willing to be made exactly what He wants.
Trusting His hands.
Resting in the knowledge that His will is perfect.

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me


4 thoughts on “Molded As Clay

  1. This is exactly what I’m going through right now! Things are not making any sence at all and I’m just wondering what the pot will look like once its done. Thanks for putting things in perspective for me! 🙂 Love ya girl! 2 more days!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!! 😀


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