God the Potter is molding me.
What kind of vessel will I be:
To carry, to store, or for a drink?
A lamp, or a plate, or a kitchen sink?
I’m a little bit shallow, I admit,
For I’m focusing on me quite a bit.
But here is a thought,
I’m not the only pot.
About my life
are many others,
A husband, a daughter,
and some brothers.
The Potter’s hand is on them, too,
Making each of us, something new.
Another pot gives me a bump,
And now I have a little lump.
Into another pot I smack,
It seems they now have a crack.
Back to the Potter’s wheel we go,
Until His likeness, again does show.
If what I do, and what I say,
Changes the course of other’s clay,
Then with great care, I must behave,
Lest other’s pots become concave.
Useful pots are God’s desire,
Ones that can withstand the fire.
It’s not just me, and it’s not just you;
God’s working with other vessels too.
by Elizabeth Rust
This poem was inspired by the Scripture passage in Jeremiah 18:1-6.
