Breaking the Clay Pot

I’ve heard it said that people are like clay in God’s hands. He puts us on his potters wheel and molds us into who he wants us to be. He does the work and we, the pliable medium, are shaped by expert hands.

But what happens when the an artist has shaped and molded enough? The comes a point when the piece must be finished; it must be put into the kiln and hardened. That’s where the anaology falls apart to me. It doesn’t really work when God is continually making changes, removing parts and adding bits to our lives and our hearts. You can’t do that once a clay piece has been through the fire. If you do, it will crack and break.

How many times have I ached to be pliable, and yet I feel my heart has already hardened and at the point of breaking if I try to change it? Have you ever thought of your heart in this way? As if it’s surrounded by a layer of impenetrable protective thoughts and emotions?

I feel that. I recognize the brittleness when my heart aches and in my bones. Specifically one area of my life. About seven years ago, I made a difficult decision that I felt forced into. I knew God had spoken to me about something he wanted me to achieve. Part of his bigger plan for my life. But in order to accomplish it, I needed to do something else I really dreaded. And it wasn’t a quick fix. It’s something I’m still actively enduring and it’s been worse than I thought it would be.

For these past seven years, I’ve felt that I needed to be the clay on the potter’s wheel. I’ve needed to be mold-able; enduring the shaping and the trimming as I face the repercussions of that earlier decision. At first it was easy, because I had such confidence in God and his guiding hand on my life. But recently, I’ve felt like I’ve been drying out. The ease in which God was changing me has given way to a brittle clay that resists change. Even though there is more work to be done, the clay of my heart is tired and breaking off.

It’s a difficult mindset to live out of.

And I’m frustrated with the cracking and the tension and the constant shifting. If I am that clay in his hands, I fear won’t turn out as beautiful as he first pictured it. I’m afraid I’ve ruined his masterpiece and He will decide I’m too far gone. He’s going to find a new block of clay to replace me and my life will have been wasted. All because I couldn’t remain soft and pliable.

But even as I am writing about this, I feel Him speaking to me. Whispering his promises to me and making me question my perspective on this trying situation. “What if I’m not the clay?” “What if you’re looking at this from a completely wrong angle?”

Okay God, I’m listening. What lens are You–the ever-faithful, all-knowing God– looking at this through?

It must be different than mine? If I’m not the clay, what am I?

And I sense Him speaking to me about a branch being grafted onto a plant. One that wishes to bear fruit and grow grow grow, but must endure the splicing and the grafting first.

There’s a technique used in vineyards called “Field Grafting” which changes “the fruiting variety…without the expense of replanting.” Basically, grafting crews will cut off the top of a grapevine and insert into the trunk two buds of a desired variety of fruit. If it’s successful, the original vine continues to grow as the root system and trunk, while the new variety grows into the fruit-bearing part of the vine.

If I am that branch that is grafted onto the original vine, there are so many implications.

One, that my roots, the source from which I receive nutrients, are not my own. They’re God. My strength, my courage, my sustainer.

Two, He is the one who chooses where to place me to grow because he knows the plans He as for me and the best way to help me grow.

Three, He will help me grow the way I need to grow. He will cut back the parts that are not healthy so that other parts can flourish. And when He takes his clippers and cuts back thoseparts, it will hurt. If I try to re-grow out of an unhealthy place, He will continue to cut back until I learn. I won’t grow brittle, but adapt as I draw strength from Him.

Four, He will direct me, wrapping this vine around anchors that will hold me, directing me to the best sunlight. His work will not be finished with a pot that cannot be altered. I will continue to grow and change and I will bear fruit.

He doesn’t need to replace me when something is wrong. My life is not wasted if there is part of my that is un-yielding currently. He will work with me until I surrender and let Him work.