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The Potter’s Hands

“Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter;  We are all the work of your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8, NIV)

The room is spinning into a blur. I try to concentrate on a fixed point but realize my eyes are covered. Something strong is pressing in all around me, yet I am not afraid. The pressure is sturdy and sure, comforting me as I spin. Round and round I go, I take notice that I am not falling. I am being upheld by a firm yet gentle almost soothing grip.

I am resting on slippery floor but I do not slide. I am being held upright by…hands? Am I dreaming?  I bite the inside of my lip and taste the thick salty blood. No this is real.

My ears are covered by the firm hand yet I can distinctly hear a voice singing familiar words. The voice is singing over me, “Good, Good Father.” I continue to spin, yet I’m not dizzy. The melodic voice lulls me to deep rest, not a nap but a soul restoring rest. I stir sensing the study hand’s gentle nudge.

“This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord:  “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.”  So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” (Jeremiah 18:1-4, NIV)

I am spinning on the Potter’s wheel. I wonder how He will repurpose this marred pot.

Even though my world is spinning, my Potter controls the spin. He has a firm grip on this broken jar of clay. One thing I know, I am in good hands and “It is well with my soul.”

~April Dawn White

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