Fragile?

 I wrote an article back in 2011 that I remembered today. Back then I wrote it in Romanian (if you can read Romanian you can find it here), so I've decided to translate it. Here it is:

But now, O LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are the potter; we are all the work of Your hand. (Isaiah 64:8)

I've seen this image in a movie once that has stayed with me. A potter was teaching his son how to make a pot. Beforehand he explained that the first thing he had to do was to knead the clay extremely well until all air bubles were completely removed, otherwise whatever air was still inside the clay would break the pot once it was supposed to be burned in the furnace. 

I remember when I was a child in my grandmother's house, the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning were the decorative clay pots and plates hanging on the walls. I used to watch them until I was completely awake and I remember thinking of how frail they were, that one could easily break them and that's why they were hanging on the walls up high where us kids couldn't reach them. Sometimes I see myself as a clay pot that can break at any moment because I tend to forget the process I've undergone to be in my present shape. I can watch a clay plate and only see its weakness, that it's easily breakable, but the Potter looks at the pot and knows exactly what that pot went through to be whatever it is. The Potter knows exactly where that clay stood before He collected it. He knows every rain and snow it has endured before the Potter picked it up from its place, not to protect the lump of clay, but because He had a pot in mind for it. So instead of taking the lump of clay in His home and protect it and treasure it forever in a glass case, because it's 'special' don't you know, He took it to His workshop and threw it to the ground. He kneaded it with His hands and stomped it with His bare feet to remove all air bubles from it. The clay thought only that it was getting hit instead of comforted by the One who was supposed to love it. But the Potter was relentless. He took up the exact meassure of clay He needed for His work and placed it on the potter's wheel. He spinned and spinned that thing all the while forming it with His own fingers to give the future pot the shape He had in mind. He had to dip His hands in water constantly so that the clay wouldn't harden itself in His hands before it was time. Then when the pot was done He took the pot and and placed it in the oven and burned it so that the pot would never forget its shape. When the Potter takes a pot out of the oven He no longer sees something fragile because He knows everything the clay had endured to become a pot. After inspecting it, the pot gets decorated and signed by the Artist.

I can see myself through my weakness, but The One that formed me, sees me strong because He remembers where I layed before He had colected me and took me to His workshop. He had a plan in mind. Due to the fact that others have overused the fraze "you are special" I've started to believe and expect that meant He will forever put this lump of clay in a glass case and desplay it in His home, but contrary to my expectations He threw me to the ground and proceeded to stomp me with His bare feet and knead me with His bare hands. He took the breath out of me with things that felt like they would destroy me, but He never stopped until all air bubles were out of me. I understood little of that whole process, I thought I was being punished and had began to doubt that He had my good in mind. I couldn't understand why He, the One that was suposed to love me was hitting me, but He wasn't hindered by my wrong oppinion of Him, he pressed on. Air bubles inflate the clay and make it seem to itself larger than it is and when placed in the oven that air gets eliminated and leaves a whole in the pot which is guaranteed to break it. So the Potter was not willing to have to destroy the work of His own hands nor work in vain, He was willing to do the hard work of stomping me with His feet while I was still clay and not yet a pot. He left me without any air bubles in my substance and I finally thought He was done only to find myself on the potter's wheel and spun around until the world around me made no sense anymore. Even as dizzy as I was I constantly felt His wet hands tirelessly working me over not giving me a moment to harden beyond the point of no return -- only to have me bend into the form He wanted. When finally I had a shape I thought, "wow, I am awesome!" but only because I was unaware of what had to happen next. The Potter placed me in His oven. He burned me there until no water that I'd ever contain within me would ever make me clay again. He signed me with His Holy Spirit so that everyone looking would know who the Artist is, to remove all doubt that I'm made in some cheap shop in China that makes 10.000 of my kind in one day but that I am an original made by The Only One who's Name is Blessed forever. 

When the pot is done, (I mean trully done) it no longer thinks itself anything special and no longer cares whether others think it special or fragile, because it knows what it's been through to be whatever it is and that it stands by the grace of God. That it's all due to the Artist and His skill and talent that makes the pot stand at all. Aware of all that the pot wants only to be used as the Potter wills. 

The Potter that made me didn't form me in order to destroy me but to use me and He will never allow me to be in the hands of anyone that cannot apreciate His talent. 

So I might look fragile, but I have endured a lot to gain my current shape and that has nothing to do with my clay's superior quality, it's all a credit to the One that didn't give up working me over, not even when everything within me thought He was against me. Thank You, Lord!

 Bat Melech בת מלך Cristina כריסטינה