Waiting

 My God and King, remember that I am dust. All that I am is before Your Holy eyes. My heart stutters inside me as it fights my mind. I grasp at every word You have said, and I believe. My Lord, I believe, help my unbelief. Look with kindness upon my weaknesses.  

It feels like a war rising against me and I spoke boldly in my time of peace. I have made loud declarations about how I will stand and fight because You train my hands for war. I have bragged about my courage. I have told others how to fight and now Lord, I am afraid. Forgive Your daughter’s cowardice. “When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant I was a brute beast before You. Yet I am always with You; You hold me by my right hand. 
 You guide me with Your counsel, and afterward You will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Ps 73:21-26)  

I do not waver in my faith. I know in Whom I have placed my trust. I am just afraid. Do not let me put to shame. Redeemer of my tears, strengthen my heart. Do not allow me to dishonour You. Remember I have walked faithfully in Your sight all my life. Do not allow my steps to falter now. Do not allow my hands to drop the sword. Just say a word and my soul will be uplifted. No, not even a word, a thought will do. A glance... I am Yours, “LORD Almighty, may those who hope in You not be disgraced because of me; God of Israel, may those who seek You not be put to shame because of me.” (Ps 69:6) 

I will fight, my King. I just need You to know I acknowledge that I am scared and unless You fight for me, this battle will be lost. Even as I say that I will not be another king Saul who got so scared that he broke Your will just to get help (1 Sam. 13). I am scared but not that scared.  

Plant my feet into Rock just do not let me run even if I am tempted to. You have fought greater battles than mine and won them all. So, I will wait for You, Lord. Just do not let my trembling offend Your Holy eyes. I hope in You, may Your will be done. 

 

by Cristina Pop 

For Your sake

I was looking through some Romanian Christian poems. I do that when I miss my mother. I try to remember her voice reciting poems or singing songs. One of her favorite authors was Costache Ioanid, so I have decided to translate, very poorly, one of his poems. 

 

                 De dragul Tău          For Your sake

             de Costache Ioanid           by Costache Ioanid

 

Ce dor frumos, ce Rai ne leagă!   What beautiful yearning, what Heaven binds us! 
Eu cânt cu lacrimi, Tu le-alini  I sing with tears, You wipe them away,  
De dragul Tău mi-e lumea dragă, For your sake the world is dear to me, 

că-n ea Te văd și-n flori și-n spini.  For in it I see You both in flowers and thorns. 

În crinii albi Ți-e sărutarea,  The white lilies hide Your kiss, 
în maci văd sânge pe Calvar. In poppies I see the blood of Calvary. 
De dragul Tău mi-e dragă marea  For Your sake I love the sea 
și cerul fără de hotar!                    And the limitless sky! 

În bulgări reci Te văd cum sameni  In cold lumps of dirt I see You sowing, 
și-n spini văd pașii sângerați.          And in the thorns I see Your bloodied steps.  
De dragul Tău iubesc pe oameni;    For Your sake I love people; 
azi sunt străini, mâini, poate frați!   Today's strangers, tomorrow might be brothers!

Când turme trec ducându-și dorul    When flocks pass by carrying their yearnings  
și spune-un fluier: "Sunt cu voi!"     And a flute is saying, ‘I’m with you!’
de dragul Tău mi-e drag păstorul      For Your sake I love the shepherd, 
ce-și pune pieptul pentru oi!             That bares his breast out for the sheep! 

În cei aleși Îți văd iubirea,               In the elect ones I see Your love, 
cu ei cântându-Ți psalmi în văi...   Singing You Psalms with them in valleys, 
De dragul Tău le sorb privirea;       For Your sake I drink in their eyes,
pe-obrajii lor, sărut pe-ai Tăi!        And I kiss their cheeks imagining they’re Yours! 

Și cât mi-e dat să nu-Ți văd fața,    And when it’s my lot not to see Your face, 
dorit de stele ca un mag,                 Desired by the stars as a wise man,  
de dragul Tău mi-e dragă viața,     For Your sake I love life, 
și moartea nu-i decât un prag...      And death is nothing but a threshold ... 

The Word

 I wrote this back in 2016. You can find the article here.

” In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” – John 1:1

This Saturday I was watching this experiment designed to show the way a human brain functions when it comes to reading words. I’m not sure to what extent that works in all languages, but in English, if you keep the first and the last letter of every word, regardless of how you mix the letters inside, it will allow the mind to actually make sense of the words, or interpret every word it reads.

As I was watching this, it came to mind the fact that Yeshua said He is the Alpha and Omega (A Ω  first and last letters of the Greek alphabet), or Alef and Tav, ( א  ת first and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet). I understood that whether it’s a word, a concept, an idea or a theory, if it begins and ends with Yeshua, then things make sense even if they seem chaotic inside.

Many times I struggle to utter the right idea concerning a concept that I think I grasped about Adonai and I am not always successful to get everything exactly right every time and as I grow I see that I’ve misplaced one letter, still I know that if I keep the first and last letter in place, it makes sense. I may be misspelling in every single language that I try to write in and sometimes I’m convinced that that’s how it’s spelled, but even when I’m wrong, whoever wants to understand, understands. Sometimes I may not be able to express every thought or concept in a flawless theology, but if He is the beginning and the end of every word, then it can be understood even if it needs a spell check.

I thought about Yov (Job) and how he began with every word spelled exactly ‘right’, metaphorically speaking. Everything made sense. Things were simple. He had only one theory guiding him: If you are a righteous man and try to do good and if you fear HaShem (God) and seek to do His will, then the result can only be good; you have nothing to fear because no evil shall befall you and no harm will come to you and yours. Simple. Until all the horrendous things happened to him and his family and all that was left of his theory was a pile of jumbled letters. And it took him a while to make sense of it all. When I read about how he had sat and analysed everything, it almost seems like he was trying to put back together a puzzle that has been scattered by the wind everywhere. If you’re trying to solve a puzzle you first have to find all the outer pieces, those that make out the perimeter of the puzzle, those that define its limits.

If you try to define a certain situation when the accuser keeps asking, ‘where is your God? And if He is, doesn’t He care that you’re about to perish?’, then you have to start with the Beginning and finish with the End, as retarded as that sounds. Every explanation that you want to give yourself must start with Yeshua and end with Him, otherwise nothing will make sense.

There are high chances that maybe you won’t reach the right conclusion concerning the ‘why?’, but as long as your thought ends with ‘even so, He is still my God’, then you have nothing to worry about.

Sometimes it so happens that everything you know about Him is tested. And it happens that you end up with a lot of your theories either dead or crippled, but as long as you keep the first and the last letter in place, it’s OK, breathe!

Just because all your letters are jumbled, it doesn’t mean it’s unintelligible. It only means that you’re about to find out that Adonai gave you the strength and wisdom to read situations as if they’re spelled right and that’s because He has placed Himself and the beginning and the end of every word. 

Bat Melech בת מלך

 Cristina כריסטינה

Vessels of gold

 I started listening to, The History of the Church of Christ, Century 3, by Joseph Milner. I highly recommend the book. It is well written and the author's commentaries that accompany each character he deals with, are instructive. Although he is moralistic at times, which is not the best trait in a historian, he was also a Christian which entitled him to his remarks that will enrich one's understanding of the subject at hand.
Anyway, this is not a book review. The reason for writing this blog entry is this quote, found in the beginning of chapter 16:

“It has been already mentioned that Cyprian heard about the death of Sixtus, Bishop of Rome, a little before his own martyrdom. In pursuance of the cruel orders of Valerian for carrying on the persecution, he had been seized with some of his clergy. While they were carrying him to the execution, Laurentius, his chief deacon followed him weeping and said, 'Wherest thou goeth father without thy son?' Sixtus said, 'You shall follow me in three days.'
We may suppose him to have been possessed with the spirit of prophecy in saying this because we are certain that miraculous gifts were of by no means extinct in the Church but perhaps the declaration was not out of the reach of common sagacity from the circumstances of affairs.
After Sixtus' death the prefect of Rome, moved by an idle report of the immense riches of the Roman Church, sent for Laurentius and ordered him to deliver them up. Laurentius replied, 'Give me a little time to set everything in order and to take account of each particular.' the prefect granted him three days time. In that time Laurentius collected all the poor who were supported by the Roman Church and going to the prefect said, 'Come behold the riches of our God! You shall see a large court full of golden vessels!' The prefect followed him but seeing all the poor people, turned to Laurentius with looks full of anger. 'What are you displeased at?' said the martyr, 'The gold you so eagerly desire is but a vile metal taken out of the earth and serves as an incitement to all sorts of crimes. The true gold is the Light, whose disciples these poor men are. The misery of their body is an advantage to their souls. Sin is the true disease. The great ones of the earth are truly poor and contemptible. These are the treasures which I promised you to which I will add precious stones. Behold these virgins and widows, they are the Church's crown. Make use of these riches for the advantage of Rome, of the Emperor and yourself.'
Doubtless, had the prefect's mind been at all disposed to receive an instructive lesson, he had met with one here. The liberality of Christians in maintaining a great number of objects and looking for no recompense for that which shall take place at the resurrection of the just while they patiently bore affliction and rested humbly on an unseen Savior, was perfectly agreeable to the mind of Him who bids His disciples in a well-known parable, to relieve those who cannot recompense them. And glorious was the scene, at a time that the rest of the world was tearing one another in pieces, and philosophers aided not the miseries of men in the least, but as the persecutors would not hear the doctrines explained so neither would they see the precepts exemplified with patience.
'Do you mock me!' cries the prefect, 'I know you value yourself for contending death and therefore you shall not die at once!' Then he caused him to be stripped, extended and fastened to a gridiron and in that manner be broiled to death by a slow fire. When he had continued a considerable time on one side, he said to the prefect, 'Let me be turned, I am sufficiently broiled on one side.' And when they had turned him, he said, 'It is enough, you may eat.' Then looking up to heaven, he prayed for the conversion of Rome and gave up the ghost.”

There are countless stories of the bravery of believers in the face of torture and death. The one above made me think of Paul's passage in 1 Corinthians 1:27-29

“But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.”
Believers now boast of their great knowledge and understanding of Scriptures, but have lost so much of their fire... or maybe I'm the only one. I don't wish to be one of those that moan at the state of things in their generation, because the last thing I wish to be is a cliché. I think I am sad for myself mainly. I feel ashamed that believers with little to no comfort, little to no knowledge concerning the Scriptures, have believed this Gospel to the point where they beted their very lives on it. I can barely drag my feet and consider it a trial that someone offends me with their words...

Lord, You who knows all things, who sees all things, my precious Jesus, my only hope, You are worthy of all my loyalty and obedience. You're worthy of a wholehearted resolve not just scraps from me... Forgive me, for my stinginess, my generous Lord. I'm slow to learn and slower still to practice, but increase Your grace for me and help me see. Don't let me delude myself that I am good enough... Lord, You're worth my all. I want to make so many promises, but you know my fickle heart will stumble and be distracted by something else in a matter of minutes. But, You, recorder of my tears and prayers, record that it is not all the same to me whether You're pleased with me or not. You know all things, You know I love You, Lord. Help me...

by Cristina Pop

Salvation is from The Lord

My sister and I have this little tradition where every Monday, we take Monty, we go for a walk and we vent. About anything and everything under the sun. Today she was trying to let me speak at my own pace because she could tell I was struggling to articulate things. And let me tell you, if I ever have problems to put into words whatever is bothering me, it means that my brain is fried. So we kept on walking and suddenly I just felt it burst out of me, 'I feel like Gideon!' like of course that made perfect sense. My sister, bless her soul, nothing fazes her when it comes to me but I felt the need to elaborate a little. 'I sow and work the ground and come harvest time Midian keeps coming and stealing everything I have. Now I'm like Gideon reduced to threshing wheat in a wine press to hide it from the Midianites. And I'm tired of things always being taken from me!' Apparently I don't know how to vent like a normal person, yet my sister tried her best to reason with me and give me a more balanced perspective. I think it worked, but I got stuck on Gideon.
Judges 6. As per usual, Israel doesn't obey God, and He gives them up into the hands of Midian. The Midianites treat them so harshly that the children of Israel run every time to hide into the mountains and the caves. Everything that the Israelites worked for was robbed, stolen or destroyed. They remember they belong to God, and they call out to Him to help them and God sends them a prophet to let them know their transgression, without any promise for salvation (Judges 6:8-10). Then God Himself goes to find them a hero. He finds Gideon. “Now the angel of the LORD came and sat under the terebinth at Oprah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, while his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine press to hide it from the Midianites.” (Judges 6:11) I don't know how long the angel sat there watching Gideon but suddenly he makes himself known and greets the hero, “The LORD is with you, O mighty man of valor.” (Judges 6:12) Gideon is in a fowl mood. “And Gideon said to him, “Please, my lord, if the LORD is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the LORD has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian.” (Judges 6:13)
Only someone that has spent an entire lifetime working on himself can understand Gideon's frustration. You spend years and years sowing The Word of God into yourself, developing every little part of yourself and try to turn every flaw into a quality only to have 'Midianites' come every time you're about to enjoy a harvest and steal all your hard work and leave you empty-handed and confused, 'what just happened? Wait, is God even with me? If so why doesn't He send help?' And it builds and builds until you get to a point that surpasses anger and goes straight into reckless rebellion. God Himself could stand before you and you still wouldn't guard your tongue. I wouldn't advice that course of action but it's certainly understandable. Gideon had just about enough, so he doesn't feel wise or cautious. He's rude and in danger of being evaporated where he stands, but he's tired of being scared, so he speaks his mind. Instead of seeing offense in Gideon's words, the angel sees fuel for God's purpose. And the LORD turned to him and said, “Go in this might of yours and save Israel from the hand of Midian; do not I send you?” And he said to him, “Please, Lord, how can I save Israel? Behold, my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father’s house.” (Judges 6:14-15)
I love God's sense of humor. I mean only He can find the most disillusioned human in Israel, who's also a coward with an attitude, who probably needs saving more than anybody else and tells him, 'with this might of yours, go save Israel'. And against all odds, Gideon goes and does just that.
My lesson from this story? Nobody is coming to save you. You can grumble all you like at the injustice of things. You can be disenchanted with God for not doing something for you until you're blue in the face. You can hate the Midianites and vow 'this is the last time they steal from me!' and then go and think of ways how to hide your supplies. You can continue to be small in your own eyes and in the eyes of everyone around you while your ego can defy God Himself. Nobody is coming to save you. You're it. Take that anger and whatever bitterness drives you and burn it down. If it refuses to burn pray until it ignites or find a sister to vent to. That can do wonders. You're the hero disguised as a coward into your own life movie. Even if you're a coward like Gideon who feared people so much that he destroyed their idols at night, so they wouldn't know it was him, you can still save yourself. If you have time and energy to spend on meditating on the injustice of your situation, you have the time and energy to follow after God and let Him guide you into your salvation. (I am not talking about salvation from sin, just in case that needs clarifying.)

By Cristina Pop
 

All my springs are in You

 I have moments when out of the blue I just feel depleted of all resources. It's not due to any specific circumstances or events I just find myself running on empty. Maybe a more introspective person than myself could easily tell you the string of mental gymnastics that lead them to that place, not I. Even after 22 years of walking with The Lord, I still stop there dumbfounded by the realization, 'I have no strength!' and then I panic and I start questioning everything from if the sky is really blue to 'do I really like coffee or have I just convinced myself I do'. I am happy to report the crisis never lasts long, but it happens. Now, if I were a psychologist I'd be able to explain it as an identity crisis brought on by triggers that my subconscious mind suppresses, but I am not a psychologist and regardless of that, when I am in the thick of things I really don't care for explanations. It suffices for me to understand that I am in a desert with no water in sight. Due to the fact that I am not just in a desert place, but I am even being dramatic about it, I always tell God, 'I feel like Hagar again, help...' That's a secret code between the Lord and I. It sums up a multitude of things and I know He understands and never fails to help. Why Hagar? Well, I love Hagar.
She has a bad reputation in Christian minds not in small parts thanks to Apostle Paul's little symbolism in Galatians 4:22-31. Be that as it may, I still love Hagar and when I shall be with The Lord, she'll be among those that I shall beg the honor to go embrace.
She was an Egyptian slave given to Sarai (later Sarah) as a gift after a little excursion she and Abram (later Abraham) took to Egypt (Genesis 12). It couldn't have been easy to leave everything familiar to her and go follow a new people and a new God, but she did. I know she followed God by the simple fact that God went to speak to her twice and not just that, but He did something He never did for any other woman in the Old Testament, He called her by her name every time, like He did with Abraham, with Jacob, with Moses and only with those dear to Him. There must have been something about her that The Lord felt really protective about.
Hagar's name means flight or forsaken and her name never gets changed into anything else like Sarah's or Abraham's names got changed. Yet, God was not ashamed to call her by her name. She was what she was, prone to flight, prone to pride for no good reason (Genesis 16:4), rebellious, forsaken... imperfect in every possible way. Still, God follows her closely.
She's submitting to Sarai, whom she's not very pleased with and when she can't hide her derision, her mistress mistreats her to the point where she does what she knows best, she runs away. God runs after her and finds her in the desert next to a spring (Genesis 16:7). She doesn't hide the reason for her flight. She's told to go back and submit to her mistress (Genesis 16:9) and then gets a promise worthy of the great men of the Scriptures. She's not afraid or surprised that God comes to her. She doesn't panic like greater people saying, 'I have seen The Lord, I will die!' Almost like she's used to it which always makes me wonder. And as if all that wasn't enough, she gives God a Name, as if she's entitled to, El Roi — God Sees — “So Hagar gave this name to the LORD who had spoken to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “Here I have seen the One who sees me!”(Genesis 16:13). The first human to see the One who sees. God doesn't say, 'you think you've seen', nor 'you're confused, you know nothing about Me”... no. He accepts her assertion that she has seen Him as He has seen her.
Years pass, Hagar's child, Ishmael grows, but they're no longer welcome in their masters' house, so they are sent away with a pitcher of water and some bread. Hagar goes into the desert again. Her meager supplies run out and her child and herself are about to die. She doesn't want to watch her son die, so she lays him under a bush, and she goes a little way off and begins to wail. I can only assume she was calling to

God because the text doesn't say that, only that God shows up again. This time He calls out from heaven (Genesis 21:17) He reiterates His promise made to her concerning the fate of her child and then my favorite part, He opens her eyes, and she sees a spring of water, and she can revive her child. (Genesis 21:19) God continued to be faithful to His Own word and has been with the child and this child grew and thrived in the desert.
I feel kinship with Hagar. I hate the desert but I keep finding myself in it. Not because God leads me there, He leads me to green pastures (Ps. 23) but I am prone to run. And for some reason I always run towards the desert. Sometimes God finds me next to a spring like in Hagar's first flight, but other times I am so overcome by the desert that I am blind to any possible spring. God has to come every single time and open my eyes that ,“All my springs are in Him.” (Psalm 87:7).
“Blessed are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the Valley of Baca (Weeping) they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools.” (Psalm 84:5-6)
I might find myself in the desert many times. But The God that calls me by name is trekking my every step. I may wail in the place I find myself because I see no spring, but He will wipe away my every tear and turn it into springs. After all, I see The One who sees me and it's impossible to look at Him and not see a spring.

by Cristina Pop

Ramblings

 Yesterday we (myself, my sister and brother-in-law) were walking on this road in the woods, and we came upon a field that had been rained on the night before. My sister was off somewhere and I pointed to Daniel how weird it looked that the rain and wind managed to lay to the ground most of the grass whilst leaving patches of it untouched. It looked strange. And this poem by Robert Frost came to mind,

“The rain to the wind said,
'You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.“ (Lodged, Robert Frost)

I kept thinking about a great many things while we kept walking. I ended up going in circles in my head and debating myself like a crazy person. I was comparing myself to that grass imagining myself in a field I did not choose, but alas I was there. I have busied myself the best I knew how to grow in every possible way, both as a human and as a child of God. Some sheep came from time to time and munched off my tips, but here I am, still a blade of grass. And suddenly, without rhyme or apparent reason, comes the storm. Both wind and rain combine their strength which is enough to topple rocks and carve them if need be, and they proceed to come down on my little blade of grass. And I know I can't win. It's no contest. I know how to brave the wind on its own. I know how to withstand the rain on its own, but when they join forces to make a storm, I'm a joke in their path. I can do all the dancing in the world in the wind but it's no use when rain pelts down on me at the same time. My roots can only go so deep. A child could pull me out if he felt so inclined. When winds (circumstances) form an alliance with rain (my flesh) and their attack lasts long enough and frequent enough it can lay me flat on my face in the best case scenario and can destroy me in the worst case scenario. So what's the point really?
I kept walking very sullen carrying all these things in my heart and then I remembered The Lord. If you consider all that and don't include Him in the equation, it is pretty pointless. But because He is in the equation, that changes everything. With Him in the picture I am not just a blade of grass lost in a field full of grass, just a face lost in the crowd without anything distinguishing it from the rest. To Him, every blade of grass is of utmost significance. It says in the Talmud, Mid rash Rabbi, Bereishit 6:10 “Said Rabbi Simon: 'Every single blade of grass has a corresponding angel in the sky which hits it and tells it to grow." Continuing it says how much more is it true for humans made in the image of God. I am not interested for the purpose of this article in the theology behind that statement, but in the sentiment it is trying to impart. Jesus said about the grass of the field, “Consider the lilies, how they grow: They do not labor, nor do they spin. But I say to you, not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed as one of these. But if God thus clothes the grass in the field, being here today and tomorrow being thrown into the furnace, how much more you, O you of little faith!” (Luke 12:27-28)
Even If I had no value in the eyes of God more than a blade of grass, I'd still be more cared for than Solomon, the wise rich King. Yes, I might be at the mercy of the elements, being tossed and turned and pelted on until I have no choice but kneel, yet I serve a God that sees value in every fiber of my being.
“A bruised reed He will not break and a smoldering wick He will not extinguish; He will faithfully bring forth justice.” (Isaiah 42:3) He is a God that honors resilience and rewards it. If I hang on even by the skin of my teeth He will not let go, for He cannot go back on His word.

“This is what the LORD says: “As when juice is still found in a cluster of grapes and people say, ‘Don’t destroy it, there is still a blessing in it,’ so will I do in behalf of my servants; I will not destroy them all.” (Isaiah 65:8)
I may be a frail little blade of grass in danger of falling over any minute, but He knows all this. Sometimes I feel guilty of even going through the storm in the first place, but the storms are not of my own choice. They come. Whether I want them to or not. And they can easily level me to the ground to the point I am drowned in the mud and it looks like I'll never rise again, but by His grace I'll stand.
I'll end this with a quote I have loved for years. It's from the movie, The Count of Monte Cristo: “Life is a storm. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout "Do your worst, for I will do mine!” 

 And what can you do, you ask? I'll abide in Him.

by Cristina Pop

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