“Go down to the potter’s house,” the Lord once said, To Jeremiah, in his spirit led. For some lessons in life, we must descend, Not in our heights, but where we bend.
Down to the place where the potter molds, Shaping murky clay with gentle holds. For in our lows, we are made to see, The work of the Potter in you and me.
The clay He chooses, though flawed and weak, Is pressed and pounded, soft and meek. For the Potter knows, with every strike, The cracks will form, but He makes them right.
Are you being pressed against the wall, Feeling broken, shattered, small? Fear not, the Potter’s hands are sure, He works with love, so we endure.
In our impurities, we often break, But the Potter never makes a mistake. With patient hands, He starts anew, Forming vessels strong and true.
We are not thrown away, despite our flaws, The Potter’s love obeys no laws. With mediocre clay, He forms with grace, Vessels to adorn His holy place.
Are you broken now? Rejoice and know, In His hands, your beauty will grow. Glazed and shining, you’ll stand one day, A perfect vessel, shaped His way.
