The Potter's Clay
by Deborah Smith Plemmons
I was but a lump of shapeless clay,
Until I was touched by the Potter one day.
With His hands, He started molding me
Into what He would have me to be.
I did not resist His gentle touch,
Though I thought I'd not amount to much.
He smoothed rough edges, getting rid of self.
I really didn't want to sit on a shelf.
He fashioned me after His own image.
I remained pliable to avoid any damage.
Thank you, God, for not giving up on me.
I pray I'll be all you want me to be.
God is the Potter and I am the clay.
He molded me into what I am today.
I feel now I'm a vessel fit for His use;
A vessel of honor to share His truths.
Please contact Deborah Smith Plemmons at "firstname.lastname@example.org" to request permission to use this poem.
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