I need perspective. I need Him. I need. A commentary on my dependence—not just for breath and life, but for all the work of a soul. Can I bring it all to Him and trust Him to shape and mold me—frail flesh, stiff clay on the wheel that needs the warmth and water of His firm, gentle hand?
All the little, hard stuff—the traffic ticket, the unserviceable phone, the Suburban that needs towing, the swept up pile of Cheerios and tortilla chip bits, the scrunched up clothes behind the door in the bathroom. It is their accumulation in a single day that stiffens the clay.
Then I see the good stuff—the little love note taped to my wall (I don’t have the heart to take it down). The little bears lined up on the floor—“They are going to church,” she says. Girls that make brownies, boys that make car noises. The beauty outside–the birds that stretch their wings into sky, always soaring. The quarter moon rising against a pink and purple eventide.
And even without all this, He is more than enough–the One who drank anger’s cup and offers me the vessel of blessing. Ah the clay is getting softer–His wheel spinning, molding me, fitting me for glory.