Being Clay Is Not Fun

Every once in awhile I will hear a sermon that sticks with me for a long time.  A couple weeks ago our pastor preached a sermon that brought to mind a sermon I had heard years ago, a video message by Pastor T.D. Jakes.

In his sermon, Pastor Jakes spoke about us being clay on the potter's wheel. He talked about being molded and shaped into a vessel of the potters desiring.  He told of the potter continually dampening the clay to keep it supple and mold-able, of him stopping the spinning wheel occasionally so he could remove twigs and other pieces of undesired objects from the clay. He demonstrated the wheel spinning fast and spinning slow depending on what the potter wanted to accomplish in the clay. He also stressed the importance of being centered on the wheel if stability was to be achieved.  It was a good sermon, an unforgettable sermon.

So, as I listened to my pastor mention the potter and the clay, the Spirit took me back to Pastor Jakes' sermon eight years ago. The Spirit also took me back to my life as it was five years ago. For the past two weeks I have kept thinking and rethinking all that went through my mind that Sunday morning.  Let me share some of it with you.

Five years ago I was happy in the ministries where the Lord had my husband and me.  At the age of 65 I felt that I had finally found where I belonged--in prison ministry. I was able to use the gifts I knew I had. For one, I was quick to listen and slow to speak. As male inmates got to know me, they poured out their fears, hopes and dreams. listened. I also kept in mind that all I heard was not necessarily the truth. I knew their stories could be complete cons, but I listened anyway and prayed with them when so led.

I loved teaching. The opportunities I had to share and teach in the prison were a blessing to me and also fulfilling. I was often told that what I shared was also meaningful and a blessing to the men in our group--men I know only by name, not by crime. I could be standing face to face with a murderer or a burglar, a rapist or a drug seller.  I had no way of knowing.  All I knew was they were men with moms and dads, wives and kids, friends and enemies, and a desire to be on the outside. They were also men with gifts and talents, deep faith and no faith, and a need for a relationship with Jesus. This was where I belonged. Ironically, this was where my husband also felt he belonged.

During this time, we were also very involved in an international ministry, serving not only locally, but also on the state level.  I spoke at conventions, luncheons, and banquets. As with the prison ministry, I loved doing it, and people expressed being touched by what I shared. Life was good. The piece of pottery God had shaped me into was being used well for its intended purpose.  At least that is how I saw it.

Then came January 2008.  As my beautiful, useful, clay self sat in the middle of the potters wheel, slowing turning, continually being dampened and slightly remolded, feeling like I was almost complete,  my husband admitted he had molested our granddaughters. As a result of my husband's crime, the prison ministry I so loved was stripped away as were the other ministries we were involved in. I felt like the potter had taken his mighty hand and smashed me flat.  In the blink of an eye I saw myself as a shapeless blob on his wheel. I was still centered on it. I was still wet and mold-able. I was still the same clay, but the shape I had known to be me was unrecognizable.  The purpose of "me" I could not find.

I found myself in pain. I was also completely devastated because I assumed the potter no longer needed me. I figured that I had served his purpose. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I was right about being in pain. I was wrong believing that prison ministry was my purpose in life. I was wrong about being smashed flat. I was wrong about no longer being needed or having a purpose. I was also wrong when I thought that the potter and I were starting all over from scratch.

You see, during those Wednesday nights in the prison, those eight years spinning on the potter's wheel, I wrongly assumed I was being shaped for prison ministry. Now I firmly believe he was really giving me an understanding for the years my husband would live behind bars. I am not the prison ministry pot I thought I was.  It is part of my shape and strength, but it is not me. I am still clay in the potters hand, still being shaped and molded.

In those first years following my husband's confession, all sorts of  junk I didn't even know was in me appeared. I don't know where anger, self-pity, shame, worthlessness, depression and... well, you name it were hiding. I wasn't outwardly experiencing such emotions. But with the help of a therapist, the potter was finding them.  It was a slow process. The finding process wasn't too bad, but the removal was not only tedious, but also painful. Thankfully, the potter, my potter, is loving. Most times he was extremely gentle, but others times more stern. He knew what I could take and what I couldn't, what I needed and when. Slowly turning, always probing, pulling, removing, wetting, he worked on.

This refining, cleansing stage has been going on for five years now.  I sense the wheel turning a little faster these days. I also sense that as the potter works he is now adding to who I am. Being the Master Potter, he knows exactly what he is doing, what he is creating me to be. It is my prayer that I won't make the mistake of assuming that who I am today is who I will be tomorrow. Each day, each year, each stage builds on the previous one and is necessary for the next. I need to be the best me I can be today in preparation for the me of tomorrow. Only the potter knows who that will be.

Have a God day today, and be the best you that you can be today because tomorrow you will be a new you.