Thankful for Freckles
by Olabode Smith
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Kay’s mother, Mrs. Moore drove intently as they turned down a rather busy street. Kay rolled down the window and rested her arm on the outside of the car door. The wind rushed into the car, tossing her dark hair away from her freckled face. As Mrs. Moore drove, she concentrated on the cars around her. The light ahead was about to turn red, so she started to apply the brake. Kay gazed out the window watching people pass on the sidewalk. "Hey Freckles!" She had from sidewalk. There stood Charles Robinson, grinding and waving in his teasing away. Kay felt her face grow deep red. She did not want to become angry, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Snatching the car window handle, she cranked it up so fast it looked automatic. Then she turned her entire body away from the window and faced her mother. "Oh Mom," she pouted, "why did I have to be the one in this family with all these ugly freckles? I hate them! And I am so sick of being teased about them. Yesterday at school, Charles Robinson and Tom Hamilton asked if they could play connect the dot on my face. Kay broke into tears, which had become a more frequent occurrence, "It’s not fair," she sobbed. "I don’t see why God had to make me with freckles" Mrs. Moore turned down a less congested street, so she was able to think a little more clearly and she pondered her unhappy daughter’s remarks, she saw something out of the corner of her eyes. She noticed a new shop opening on Narford Street. In a large letters she read: WEBBER POTTERY. "Kay, dear, does that new shop belong to Tom Webber?" "What new shop?" Kay sniffled, drying her tears on her sleeve. "We’re passed it now, but the sign said "WEBBER POTTERY." "I guess it must be," answered Kay, temporarily forgetting her present trials. "I was talking to Sandy Webber after Church last Sunday, and she told me her Dad was opening a new pottery shop around here. Do you think you could visit it sometime? I would love to see how he make those beautiful pieces of pottery." "Now, that sounds like a good idea," replied Mrs. Moore. She was glad Kay had been cheered so soon this time, but she knew the problem would arise again as easily as she could look in a mirror. She thought again of the pottery shop and how it might help solve Kay’s problem for a while. Mrs. Moore gives Mrs. Webber a call before they stopped at the shop. "We can go after lunch, she finally said. As they entered the shop, a large sign was made of wood with bold letters engraved into it, and it was bordered with delicate flowers. It read: "But now, O LORD, thou art our Father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all the work of thy hand" (Isaiah 64: 8). "Good afternoon," come the sweet voice of Mrs. Webber. Go ahead and look around you a bit; then you can go in the back and watch my husband at work. "Thank you Jean," said Moore as she walked over to join Kay, who was admiring the bottom of the dish. Kay set the dish carefully back on the shelf, then picked up another and looked at the bottom of each dishes. "And why are so intrigued with the bottom of those dishes?" Her mother asked. "Look at his stamp, mother isn’t that different?" They both looked at the unusual stamp on the bottom. It was shaped like a web with Mr. Webber’s initials and the reference of Isaiah 64: 8 interwoven in it. "With this seal, no one will ever mistake who created this pottery," said Mrs. Moore as they started for the back room where Mr. Webber was working. Beloved, Isaiah 45: 9 says, "shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, what makest thou?” And chapter twenty-nine verse sixteen tell us ‘shall the work say of him that made it. He made me not? Or shall the thing framed say of him that framed it.” He had no understanding? "For you know, some of us are like that. We cannot understand why God made us the way He did, we must remember, though, that He is the creator, and He knew what He was designing when He made each one of us. I, for instance, have an ugly scar on the back of my hand. It is all covered with clay right now, but it’s there. It used to bother me until one day when I was putting my seal on one of my pots. It became very clear to me" "So Kay, do you think you have a seal that can remind you who created you and whom you belong?" "I sure do," she laughed. "And thank you, Mr. Webber, for helping me to be thankful for my freckles!" Beloved, learn from my testimony, for years now, I have been having wound ulcers on both my ankles and feet, the scar is there but what can I do? I cannot do anything to it, but God made me and He created me for a purpose but God is not the author of the scar but I wounded myself there. I have prayed to God to heal me, I know God hears my prayer but the wound ulcers is still there. It is not my problem, when the time come God will heal me. So, beloved, never to blame God or your parents over a small thing, give it to God to take perfect control of everything. God bless you.
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