If clay could feel, what would it feel?
Like it was going under again for the third time? Overwhelmed from time to time as it’s flooded by water being poured into the mix so that the mix might remain malleable? Would clay feel a sense of drowning from time to time? Relieved perhaps when the water abates, if only for a little while, so it can catch its breath?
Would it get tired of being constantly kneaded, hammered, and pressed into shape? Aching from the constant stretching? Wanting, at times, just to be left alone. Thinking it might actually be content to remain a formless blob? Maybe?
And what about the do overs? Just when it thinks it’s been molded into its final state, it’s taken, mashed up again, and seemingly things start from the beginning again?
And then, the kiln. What about the kiln? When the heat gets turned up to finalize its form, bake in some endurance, and add some color. Not thinking the fire’s much fun for the clay.
And in this all, what about clay’s self esteem. Until it’s a finished product, not much to look at, really. Kind of drab in color. Not much form, at least to start with. And it can’t even take credit for the form it will eventually find.
So who would want to be clay? Who would want to even be compared to clay? What possible motivation would there be to put on your “I Am Clay” t-shirt in the morning?
But now, O LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are our potter; we are all the work of Your hand.
(Isaiah 64:8 ESV)
It’s the Potter who makes us want to be the clay.
Taking on water; constantly being pressed, prodded, and pushed; the do overs and mash ups; even the repeated trips to the kiln and it’s refining fire; all worth it. Not because of the intrinsic value of being clay, but because we’re clay in our loving Father’s hands. The finished product for His perfect purposes.
Might not be fun being clay at times. But oh, the privilege of being formed by the Father and shaped by the Savior. Of being recreated by the Creator and remolded by the Redeemer.
Being conformed to the image of the Son (Rom. 8:29). His workmanship (Eph. 2:10).
So how does clay feel? Blessed . . . even when feeling a bit battered.
All praise be to our Father for the blessing of being but clay in the Potter’s hands.
Because of grace. For His glory.