Soft as Clay
in the Master’s+ Hands…
O LORD JESUS,
soft as clay in the Master’s+ Hands,
I would be.
Willing clay… workable, compliant…
not fighting against THEE+
when I do not like the changes.
My lump of brittle dryness,
cracking, and falling in pieces…
not able to be used,
except for dustpan debris…
until the moisture of Thy Tears+
is added unto me.
The stiffness and hardness of my clay heart then
… and only then…
kneaded thoroughly by the Potter+ of all flesh
until I have reached that perfect state:
malleable in Thy+ Hands.
Work me, make me supple under Thy+ Touch
until I do not fight THEE+ any more.
Form me, shape me,
into a vessel meet for Thy+ Use
… for Thy+ Divine Purpose…
on this battlefield of life.
And, help me not to harden
until the change has come.
My ears crave to hear this
at the setting of my sun:
“Enter thou into the joy of
My+ good and faithful servant…
+ + +