Poetry

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She never thought
her dream would be
to become a potter--
always saw a queen
in her dreams,
holding the hand of her prince,
but she woke,
felt a tug,
and she winced
as the Prince gentley pulled
at her fingers, the peace
that He'd lead to that day
by her side was released.

She always wanted a hand to hold
but never knew it was His that pulled
her to His arms to guide
her, but she shoved it to the side,
determined she alone would mold
the clay around her life.

She took the clay
out of His hands.
She shaped her legs.
She scratched her plans,
molded her arms
and with them took
a sledgehammer
and metal hook
and smashed the figure,
ripped the book
He formed and wrote for her,
and as HER works
crumbled to dust,
she cried that He
had never really
cared that much.

She always wanted a hand to hold
but never knew it was His that pulled
her to His arms to guide
her, but she shoved it to the side,
determined she alone would mold
the clay around her life.

He said, "Did I not drink
from the cup my King
molded for me?
I could have made my own
but knew my King coud see
nectar in the poison
that feeds our lives,
nourishes are homes,
leaks from the cup--
Eternity.

"Who are you to talk
back to your Maker?
He sculpts goblets for kings
and bread pans for bakers
out of the same lump of clay.
Since when did a pot
mold itself its own way?"

She always wanted a hand to hold
but never knew it was his that pulled
her to His arms to guide
her, but she shoved it to the side,
determined she alone would mold
the clay around her life.

Scripture:
"Who are you, oh man, to talk back to your maker? Does that which has made say to he who has made it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?"
-Romans 9:20, 21

"Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done."
-Luke 22:42

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