Vessels Unto Honor

banquet table with elegant flowers and dishware
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Another day down at the Potter’s House and I’m lost in the reverie of playing in the mud. The clay is soft and wet under my fingers. The music floats around me and my mind is a million miles away in some imaginary kingdom. I turn this way and that but my eyes are fixed on the mound of creation in front of me. Rolling coils of clay into long strands, coiling them one by one on top of each other to create a container. It’s a slow methodical operation. I patiently smooth the clay on the inside but purposely leave the rolls apparent on the outside of the pot. Some artists smooth the outside so one wouldn’t know the object was created by coils of clay. Somewhere in my head is the idea that these layers are beautiful and the labor of love involved MUST be visible. I so want this object in my hands to be a thing of beauty and to be useful.

Every moment spent in this place has woven some truth into me, I receive the simple reminder that I am lovingly fashioned by the Hand of the Creator. Every layer, every lump of dirt, every roll with some purpose in mind. I can almost feel as His Fingers smooth and blend the edges and layers of clay. The scraping of the rough hard spots is to create a pleasing and refined appearance; Sharp rough surfaces cleaned and made smooth; then placed in a kiln and heated to such high temperatures that it is made strong and sturdy and the minerals within the clay reveal an array of colors that shine in the night. Now this lovely pot will hold liquid and one can safely drink from it. Only under hours of intense heat could this be done.

Oh! that I would become a useful vessel unto honor. Oh! that I would not cave in the heat or try to avoid the refining process! My life pattern is to run when life gets hard; to hide when I am afraid; to be paralyzed when I cannot figure out how to get out of the fire…but…submitted to the Potter’s gentle work I remain…

And then, cool water pours over me and I know that I am full. I know that I am that vessel and I am being used in spite of the imperfections. Someone is taking a drink from me, someone else is pouring me out into a favorite recipe and yet another has set me on their table and filled me with delicate flowers.

“…he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work.” -2 Timothy 2;21 NASV

Counterfeits

this is a weed growing next to flat leaf parsley


Every time I garden, I am made aware of these ‘look-alike’ plants that just seem to KNOW to grow next to the authentic plant. They usually grow richly with an abundance of leaves; but when it comes time to harvest fruit they are a poor imitation, usually empty, and often non-existent. As I am pulling weeds I am cautious but am frequently duped into letting the ‘fake’ continue to grow, thinking it’s what I planted. Unfortunately, I don’t discover the truth until the imposter has entwined itself around the plants, choking out their life. Attempts to remove the weeds result in accidentally pulling up the real plant.
I am not a botany expert but my experience in this tells me that there might be an imposter for every plant out there. Ironically the imposters grow next to the true plants…. I don’t get it!! How do they know?!

This hands-on lesson in the garden points to a life lesson that many discover too late.
The imposters flourish en cognito next to the real thing and we often let them stay until it is too late. They influence those around them, appear beautiful and are seemingly the genuine article only to be exposed when it is time for harvest. They have no good fruit and have corrupted or killed the ones growing around them.

Be aware that just because it ‘looks’ good you will truly know it’s good by its fruit.

Stretching

The beginning has come in fits and starts. Years and years and years of journals and papers and letters and songs. Studying my toes and staring at trees and clouds, gallivanting across the earth; tending to babies, following a husband, working long hours, staying up late sewing Easter dresses and arranging spring baskets and chocolate surprises.

Struggles and wrestling with unseen things has led me down a long and dusty road. Much of the angst has been my own refusal to walk. I, the stubborn daughter, being pulled by my wrist as I drag my feet through the mud along the way. There has always been a ‘knowing’ inside that this was my calling. Yet I seem to be very able to discount it as impossible make believe and if there was anything hopeful I would simply deflect it and relegate it to a tall shelf, way above my head. The ‘knowing’ easily became a ‘doubting’. Eventually the doubt just disappears into nothingness and the idea is a distant and forgotten thought.

So here that daughter is, timidly looking from behind a crumbling wall. Realizing there is Light out there and she CAN actually see for the steps ahead. One foot in front of the other; no longer being dragged but intentionally looking up and outward. She is stretching her wings; getting ready to soar into the sky.

“The pen of a ready writer.”-Psalms 45:1

white bird flying over body of water
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From the Potter’s Hand

I started going down to the Potter’s house when I was around 17 years old. It was there, at His knee, with our hands deep in clay that I learned to listen, get dirty and to fly. The life lessons abounded, as did the art of pot building. I was fresh from the throes of rebellion, running on my own for many years. I was, as yet, an untamed beast with hair flying in the wind and a voice that spoke loudly with abandon. The Potter’s gentle words soothed ruffled edges and dashed hopes. He seemed to understand my wild ways without condemnation and had a way about Him that made me stop and listen. I never have listened well, and I still don’t, but the stories of learning to listen are so rich and varied that I cannot help but share. Perhaps someday they will feed another wild soul the way the Potter fed me.

Getting me to sit down and be still was a feat in itself. How He did that, I do not know. There was a soothing attraction or a promised peace that I had longed for? The room where He worked, though seemingly a closed up studio, offered great freedom. Freedom was the cry of my soul. Stretching young wings without parental control, flying under the radar of authority figures and a facade of confident poise gave me immunity in the past. But in the running headlong to destruction was a desperate longing to be FREE.

So freedom it was! Endless hours of dwelling at His knee, watching as He spun a bland lump of clay into a beautiful and functional vessel, and listening not so much to His words but to His heart, I began to turn into a colorful vessel full of holy oil. I was not only lovely, but useful.

Spinning in Circles

Have you ever had that feeling like you’re supposed to be doing something and you do everything BUT that thing? The everything winds up being a distraction or a detour. And better yet, the detours are dead ends. That happened with me today; and somehow, I finally heard what God was trying to say to me.

The ‘spinning in circles’ part is this fat lump of clay spinning off center on the wheel of the Master Potter. No matter how you try to right it, unless you let the Potter squeeze and push and mold that lump it continues to spin lopsided and will eventually fly completely off the wheel.

As I have intimated in previous posts, I’ve known that I am to be writing. I’ve known for years. Crippled by fear and lack of knowledge, intimidation and negative self talk, I have ignored the command and stayed busy in any direction away from sitting down with pen and paper or keyboard. My little ‘busybody’ self easily runs circles around the average individual so finding diversion comes naturally… But I am called to be supernatural. The time has come for obedience in the hard thing.

Unable to go to my job today, I found myself with time on my hands. What to do, what to do? I did all the things; the running, the walking the dogs, the breakfast cooking and cleanup. I then sat on the edge of my bed trying to decide which direction to go. I know! Library! I had a book to return and I could get another to occupy my mind for the next couple days. Or maybe the thrift shop to buy a ‘new to me’ book to read for our trip home. Alas… thrift shop closed…Library closed. Ok….Maybe get albums to fill with family photos. I found some and some watercolor paint and paper. I went to stand in line to pay for the items. Line has fifteen people waiting, trailing around the store…

My impatient self said, “Never mind!”

I went out to the car, asking myself, “Now what?’ and heard very loudly…

“I’ve already told you what to do with yourself. Go home and write.”

It took three dead ends today to get my attention, and many years of that still small voice telling me to pick up the pen.

Will this be the last time I wrestle with God? Will I heed that voice? It is fairly likely that I will be in a match again with thoughts and frustration and ‘busyness’. I know that about myself. But…I pray that my listening will be quicker; that my heart would be more pliable; that the fights would be less intense and that my feet would run faster to the Potter’s house, again and again and again.

Rejection

Art. Writing. Dance. Drama. Song. Speech. Am I not good enough? Pretty enough? Smart enough? Funny enough? What if I fail? What if I don’t have what it takes? What if ‘they’ don’t like me? What if I am not cool enough, fun enough?

Rejection. This long buried feeling surfaces and prods me. It rises up into my consciousness and bubbles up in emotion. Tears. A tongue stilled. A heart aching. A throat clenched quiet and closed. Eyes cast down. Shoulders heavy. Grief. Loss. All the old wounds flame hot inside me. Every person who ever rejected me is emblazoned in my mind’s eye. Every lie I have ever swallowed about myself suddenly appear as truths.

I forget the sweet truth that Jesus accepted me Just As I Am. I forget that He says I am more than a conqueror, a royal priest, a child of the King, a vessel unto honor, purified, forgiven, His favored one, a light, salt, a fragrant aroma, that I have been imbued with power. All of these are forgotten in that white hot moment of tortured emotions.

It doesn’t take much to evoke this in me. I have learned to school my facial expressions and my response. The voice inside my head says, ” Don’t appear hurt. Don’t tell anyone you’re hurt. Don’t let on that your heart is broken. Get up. Brush yourself off and keep going.”

The reality of such is that all of the above becomes buried in an avalanche of thick exterior walls caved in around the deep wounds. Only a word or a shadowed look, or a turned shoulder will penetrate and cause a leak in the walls.

Renewing one’s mind casts off the lies that are embedded in those walls. The lies have profited no one and have caged a beautiful bird that was meant for flight higher than imaginable. Just how do I renew my mind? What does the Potter say to me?

I sit near to the Potter as He gently places His Hands upon the spinning clay. He speaks as He works. “You will grow whatever seed you plant in your heart and mind. Transformation occurs when you renew your mind. Replace the lies with the truth and truth will flourish. If you allow the seeds of fear, worry, doubt to grow unchecked you will have an abundance of seeds after their kind. If you plant the seeds of truth, cultivate and encourage their growth you will have a renewed and fruitful heart and mind. Take your eyes off the fear and anxiety and align with what the Word of God says. Recognize the lies. Replace with the truth. Repeat.”

How simple this sounds when He says it. His Hands molding and shaping the clay, His gentle guidance as He places my hands on the pot. All that I can say is, “Yes.”

In that “Yes” is power. Listening to the Potter. Jesus. Not the lies. Not myself. Just start saying yes to the things He says. Truth flows.

I have been given the power to stare down REJECTION; The power to declare the TRUTH.

“Stop imitating the ideals and opinions of the culture around you, but be inwardly transformed by the Holy Spirit through a total reformation of how you think. This will empower you to discern God’s will as you live a beautiful life satisfying and perfect in His eyes.” -Romans 12:2 TPT

Going

I began going to the Potter’s House when I was 17. Stopping to listen at His knee and to watch His Hands work, I was still and quiet. I’m uncertain how He got me to be still.
Until then, I was wild and untamed. My long hair flying in the wind, I flew about from here to there . I was in constant motion, searching; Searching for freedom. The deep longing within my spirit to be free drew me to the confines of His studio. The four walls did not close in like my previous classrooms. The seat at the Potter’s wheel was not uncomfortable. My hands, immersed in wet, earthen clay were dancing over little lumps of creation. I was deep into creativity, learning about the Potter’s love for me… and for others.
My self centered existence began to morph into a completely new view of living.

The Words of the Potter spoke to my soul. I engraved them upon the pots I made and wrote them on the tablet of my heart. They were on the pages of journals and on my mind. They would even wake me at night in a song. They lifted me from darkness and flooded me with Light.

Oh Potter, lead me on. Show me Your ways….