The Potter's Hand
Standing and waiting, as broken as the day
Head bowed low, I’ve even no more to pray
Having done all, I’m silent and still
As I yield to the Potter as clay on His wheel.
Damaged and marred by the world’s cruel drought
Aware that even I would have thrown me out
Weary and willing, I now yield control
And in the Potter’s hands, finally I’m whole.
~Margaret
The Shoals, Alabama
The picture & the poem, both quite beautiful. I can't believe it, as far as pertaining to me, but I can when it pertains to you. ~Mary
ReplyDeleteI believe it for you, Mary!
ReplyDeleteand if we allow him, he shapes us the way he wants us to be whole
ReplyDeleteawesome words, Meg!
(your updates are finally coming through my Dashboard, yea!!)
betty