clay.

wouldn't it be so awesome and just completely, creatively filling to take a pottery class?

i think so.

i can just imagine the squishy, cold clay oozing between my fingers as i make my first floppy disaster. pride smeared all over it. i can just feel the grooves as the treading machine works its magic. the smell of water and minerals coming together in a fiery furnace. it seems to be an intimate, sensory experience. something i would completely love.

8 Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8

to know, to fully understand that i come from the hands of the most intimate potter. the greatest artist. the One who creates the most beautiful masterpieces. i'm one of them. and so are you.

so many times, my clay cracks. bits and pieces fall off. some chipped away by the potter Himself as He chisels away the imperfections found in the clay itself. then, once again, carefully and full of gentleness, i am hand-crafted back together.

picture in your mind a potter sitting at his treading wheel. hands gently, but firmly clasped around his flimsy, wet, vulnerable clay. with intense and precise detail, he holds and molds until he's finished. all the while, grasping. holding. covering his work in his capable hands. he gets to a place where his work overwhelms him with emotion. the beauty of what he just created washes over him as a tear runs down his cheek. intimate. personal.

a work from His hands.

can you see it?