THE POTTER'S TEARS

On The Potter's wheel I sat,

and felt His mighty touch;

I heard my own voice asking Him,

"Why have You made me such"?

"Oh ~ take me quickly from your wheel,

don't mold this vessel more;

Have you not chiseled long enough,

so much longer than before".

"With every turning of your wheel,

some part of me is changed;

And somehow who I used to be,

is now all rearranged".

I felt the wheel begin to slow,

as it came to a halt;

What were those last few drops

that fell? ~ they had a taste of salt.

As He removed me from the wheel,

I could not help but see;

Those drops were falling from His

eyes, and each one fell on me.

Why was The Potter crying so?

What could have made Him cry?

When I felt such a great relief,

to be free ~ or so thought I.

Free from The Potter's wheel at last,

Free from the chisel's pain;

A vessel complete from The Potter's hand,

The wheel would not turn me again.

How I did glisten, He must be proud,

to have fashioned a vessel so rare;

Surely I'd bring Him much honor,

A treasure beyond all compare.

Such visions of grandeur filled me,

as He placed me on the shelf;

I barely noticed His tear~dimm'd eyes,

so busy with thoughts of myself.

Merchants were coming into the place,

where we vessels were on display;

Surely I'd be the first to go,

Why ~ it had to be that way.

How eagerly I watched their faces,

as they examined us all;

Sure enough I was selected,

Joy filled me as I recall.

How could I know what lay ahead,

or what would be expected of me;

That day I cried to the Potter,

"From Your wheel please set me free".

I was traded and sold so many times,

filled with every imaginable thing;

Finally discarded as brok'n & useless,

No honor to The Potter did I bring.

Marred on the outside, scarred from within,

I thought of that day long before;

when The Potter's wheel stopped turning,

Would I feel His hands no more?

Then suddenly I felt myself lifted,

from out of the refuse pile;

By hands that were somehow familiar,

Hands accustom'd to handling the fragile.

It was The Potter who'd made me,

How had He known I was here?

With love & compassion He held me,

As though I was somehow dear.

"How did You find me"?, I questioned,

"And, why would You want me now?

I have brought You no honor,

It seems that I just don't know how".

"You've always belonged to me", He said,"

"For in you is part of me;

Remember that day you felt my tears

when you thought you should be free"?

"Those tears were shed because I knew,

the suff'ring you would endure;

because you're an incomplete vessel,

Only molding will make you secure".
 

"Tho' I wouldn't go against your will,

I knew you'd be willing one day;

to be the vessel I can use,

Here, let me show you the way".

"You're just the kind of vessel now,

who will fit into my plan;

One the world thinks is useless,

for they simply don't understand".

"I always take the foolish things,

to confound the very wise;

And the vessel thought to be weakest,

I see through much different eyes".

"Don't be afraid of my Potter's wheel,

This time it won't seem too long;

before you're that vessel you desired

to be, useful, loving and strong".

Oh ~ how patient The Potter's hands,

as he gently turns the wheel;

And, strangely it's not so painful now,

His chisel I hardly feel.

One thing is even more strange to me,

it baffles my own mind so;

The only places that need no repair,

Are where His tears touch'd long ago.

Mary Carter Mizrany

June 29, 1984

Poetry protected by copyright laws.

All rights reserved.
Thank you and God bless you

Artist:

Ron DiCianni

Image courtesy of

Christcentered Art