Clay

sometimes shattered chards-dry, hard, and unyeilding, sometimes crushed and ground, powdery-unfeeling, other times soft, moistened with feeling, moldable, bendable, useable. Never alone, but always in His hands...Clay.

To be used by Him I must first be broken. This vessel I possess can often be my prison. I want to be so much more than who I am. Yet I am his. Not only am I his but I am his creation. I am who He created me to be. Once created, then broken, crushed, moistened, pressed down, moulded, reshaped, fired, and recreated each day in His beautiful image. I am always...clay.