The pain you feel lets you know that this life is real.
As the burdens take shape don’t put on a hero’s cape
because no power is legit if not within His midst.
So expeditiously run to Him before that light begins to dim.
The vinedresser prunes and the potter molds all day.
There are treasures in those jars though they’re only made of clay.
See we are pained in many ways, making us dream of better days;
for promenades and escapades with sweet teas and lemonades,
but those days begin a craze that turn life’s paths into a jungle maze
and amazes the compass itself, only because His Word collects dust on a shelf.
The Word itself, it has something to add, it’s a personal letter from your Heavenly dad;
a manual that adds to what’s on your heart; remember all vessels need molding from the start.
This art, this craft. A lifesaver, that raft. Turning you into a final copy from a rough draft.
Struck down but not destroyed, only after His Words are employed.
Never crushed, despite affliction because of that indwelling conviction.
Persecuted but never forsaken because a masterpiece is what He created.
Fine pottery? This vessel is that indeed but what is its purpose? Let me proceed.
It holds something dear, specially designed by the Maker, that talented clay baker.
Something that brings joy and love and only things that are good,
the One and Only Christ, Who paid our price with His own blood.
Begin to know that and you’ll understand your worth;
of how all rubies and diamonds cannot compare to its girth.
That birth, that chance and now we are shaped by His hands,
through the clay that He uses know that His plants will stand.