season of fire

Writing the stories and lessons I’ve learned at the potter’s house, I’ve tried to write in chronological order, but this lesson is so pressing that I am compelled to record it now. It is literally seared on my heart.

 I started working in the ceramics and sculpture studio while I was in nursing school. It wasn’t the first of my lessons but the time there certainly fueled my new faith and compelled me to dig deeper into the Word and get to know the man, Jesus.

I grew up in a Catholic home, steeped in faith and love. I attended church every Sunday and Holy day and took catechism classes weekly. I received my first holy communion and was confirmed. I loved God passionately and desired to follow Him always. Time moved forward and as most teenagers do, I questioned everything in my world, including my church, my faith, and my family. When a friend introduced me to the person of Jesus, it was as if I had never known Him at all. Perhaps it was my adult brain engaging with Him, perhaps it was a perspective shift. I cannot explain it except to say that I suddenly encountered a real person whom I wanted desperately to know more about.  I embraced Him with all that I had in me.

This time in the studio up to my arms in wet clay I learned about His love and His provision; about His penchant for beauty and how he uses mistakes and detours for His glory and our good. I engaged with other creatives and learned to appreciate others’ faith. My life as an artist was quite different from what I pictured my life was going to be. I was working as an artist while pursuing a career in medicine.

My mom was also an artist at heart but she kept her gifts a secret; or at least it appeared so to me. I never knew about them. A few years ago I discovered a painting she had done as a teen that was behind another picture that hung in my room for years. Recently, I unearthed some poems and writing she had done. I had no idea about these things. She never encouraged me…that I remember. I only recall a critical judgement of my work. I recall as I was choosing my life path that I heard from her, loud and clear, that I could not make a living as an artist and choosing a career where money was to be made was paramount. She never said a word that indicated an interest in creativity. When I think about this now, I find that odd. However, it was my mom that had a building brought onto the property to house a ceramics studio. She called it a Mud Hut. She bought a used potter’s wheel and a kiln and set up shop. This occurred during my adult years and I missed this whole chapter in my mama’s life.

Fast forward, forty years…

It was while I was cleaning up the Hut this year that I discovered a whole treasure trove of things she had made. Beautiful, artistic creations fashioned with skill and gifting.  I was in awe of my mother. It delighted me that I could share this joy with her.

It wasn’t but a short couple months later that my mother completely turned into a different person. One moment cheerful and talkative, the next spiteful, accusing and suspicious. This transformation has been tortuous for me. I had just ‘found’ my mom and she had disappeared again.

I have walked through the fire of persecution. I have felt the flames of scorn. I have gotten burned in this season of my life more than I ever thought possible.

In my grief and pain, I see the Hand of the Potter. He’s molding and shaping and guiding and soothing. He pours out so much love on me at just the right moments. This struggle with emotions and circumstances out of my control surely is purifying me. Isn’t it Lord?

In the fires of the kiln, beautiful colors are coming forth on my surface. Strength and resiliency are being burnt into the fibers of my being. Surely I will become that artist that I have always wanted to be. Surely I will see victory in the land of the living.

My hope is that I will be a vessel unto honor; that I would reflect His glory. The glory of the Potter.

Though this heat is as a funeral fire, let it bring forth new breath and may my mother’s last days be spent in peace and joy even in the midst of terrible loss. Let the creative in my mother burst forth in a prism of color and life! And may this legacy live on from generation to generation.

“In the same way that gold and silver are refined by fire, the Lord purifies your heart by the tests and trials of life.” -Proverbs 17:3 TPT