The Potter’s Wheel

The Potter’s Wheel…

The Potter sat at break of day,
And gazed upon His chosen clay,
Then they began – the clay and He,
The dance of life, on spinning wheel.
With gentle hand and watchful eye,
The Potter caused the clay to rise.
But what is shapeless mound of grey?
So dance they must and so they stay.

To spinning wheel’s unchanging beat,
The Potter’s hands become Clay’s feet.
His hands dictate how Clay must bend,
And Clay must simply trust her friend.
Clay, she tries as best she can,
To melt into this Master Hand,
To feel His plan through fingertips;
He sometimes speaks with silent lips.

Clay, she danced her faithful best,
Though sometimes wished that she could rest.
This dance of life was only soul,
She must be hollowed before she’s whole.
But Clay is soft and grey and bleak,
And hides some things that make her weak.
When Potter tried to test her heart,
It was too much – she fell apart.

The wheel didn’t stop, the Potter stayed,
Now it was only up to Clay.
Should she stay? Or should she run?
Shall they finish what they’d begun?
The Potter, He believed in Clay,
He would re-write her yesterday.
“…For what is marred within My hand,
Shall stand again in different plan…”

Though it seem like different plan,
T’was always carved on Master’s Hand.
The Potter is Lord of the spinning wheel,
He sees Clay as she can be.
Clay hears His Word and she believes,
And she clings tightly to the wheel.
Though fallen, dull and soft and weak,
She lets His hands become her feet.

Great the struggle, great the fight,
Long the day, before it’s night.
Great the hope, though she can’t understand,
To dance in midst of a perfect plan.
Victory is not in finished feat,
Victory is not in grander scheme,
Victory will likely go unseen,
Victory is staying on the Potter’s wheel.

                                                           – Melissa Judith Domingo
                                                            1 Aug, 2016
                                                            “Jeremiah 18:4”