Before I took up pottery, I read the scriptures about the potter and the clay as if they were a team. The lump of clay willingly submitted to the hand of the potter. They glided together to create a beautiful piece. Now that I have been doing pottery for a bit, I have found it is more of a tug of war between the artist and the mud. I have found clay to be stubborn and strong-willed. The wrestling match is pretty much a constant and the process is much longer and more intricate than it appears in the few words of scripture about potters and clay. Here is a piece I am working on about what I have learned…as the clay…about the potter.

You are the potter; I am the clay. You put me on the wheel and center me. I resist. I try to go my own way, yet you are patient. You apply pressure and hold it. You pull and push, until I am aligned within your hands. Then, you open my heart, exposing it. You make room within me for my purpose. I am a vessel you are creating.

I turn upon your wheel until I am dizzy with the motion. Until I no longer resist the force that is tugging me outward. Then you begin the upward pull. Rearranging my molecules by spreading them out. You are a master, so your touch is gentle but firm. Your fingers move as one mind. Just the right amount of inward and outward pressure, a balance which guides me as you make a lump of mud into something usable. With each pull you change my shape, over and over again. Pulling upward…always upward.

Occasionally, I attempt to help, only to throw myself off center. You kindly, pull me back. Because you are a master, you know me by feel. My thin spots, my air bubbles, my lopsided thickness…you know them all. So masterful are you, that you can adjust each of these perceived flaws on the wheel. I need only to lean into your shaping hands and allow you to do the work.

I do not know what shape you have in mind for me. I cannot see the finished piece, but then I think that is your point as the potter. The process, not necessarily the product. You know the process takes far longer than one might think and it is not as easy as you make it appear, to form clay into something beautiful and fit for use.

I started as dirt. Yet, you saw something in me I could not see in myself. You added some water to make mud. To hold me together while you pondered my creation. Only you would use dirt as a medium in which your glory could reside. The very idea of it is preposterous. But you were not deterred in the least. In fact, it appears you were inspired with the idea of a clay vessel from which you could pour yourself out.

Much to my dismay, once I am off the wheel you set me on the shelf. I want to know all the things. What’s next? Where to? How soon? All the questions. Being on the shelf is uneventful. There are no answers to my questions here. Let’s get on with it then, I demand. I am not patient and I do not like waiting.

Back on the wheel I go. You carefully trim away all the excess. You use the cutting away to shape me. It hurts a bit, but you apply pressure to smooth out my rough places. You add a handle and a spout, or a lid, or carve a design. Your design for me is beginning to be evident. The purpose not yet clear, but the elements required are added. Then, once you are satisfied, you make your mark on me. Pressed into me. It says I am created by you. It is a maker’s mark. MY maker’s mark. Anyone who sees it knows your hands have shaped this vessel.

Once I have a maker’s mark, so I am finished, right? Not quite. When I go back onto the drying shelf, my excitement is quickly dispersed. Again? How can this be? How can you let me sit here doing NOTHING for so long? Ah, but you know that if I am moved before I am completely dry, I will explode in the next phase. Because you are the potter and I am the clay, you know more than I do…even if I don’t believe it.

To be continued….