During the course of the day, we were given different activities to do, and each time we were to get away by ourselves to complete the activity. All the activities were centered around the story of the woman who interrupts Jesus' dinner and breaks the jar of expensive nard and pours it over his head. (Luke 14:3-9) Extravagant love or waste? Many guests think she is foolish for "wasting" the nard when it could have been sold and the money used to feed the poor.
Late in the morning we were asked to select a block of clay and go create our own jar. We were given about 30 or 40 minutes to complete the task. I was grumbling to myself about why we given so long a time to make a little jar out of clay, when I knew it would only take 5 or 10 minutes. Well, needless to say, I am not an artist and had never really used this type of clay before. It was still in a cellophane wrapper. I chose a green block. Well, I have never felt clay like this. It was hard as a rock, and unmoldable. I squeezed it and beat it and tried to warm it up, but it was hard to get that unmoldable clay to warm up to my touch. As I sat there for 10, 15 minutes trying to mold my clay it became so obvious to me how I am just like that clay. I had often sang the old hymn, "you are the potter, I am the clay" but never did it have more meaning to me than it did at this moment as I sat squeezing that lump of clay.
I saw how hard it is to soften unused clay and how hard it is to mold into anything. When I am apart from God, this is how I must feel in his hands. He is the potter, but I am hard, unmoldable clay. As I spend time in his presence and let him work with me, I become softer, easier to mold. I see that the more I stay in his hands the more moldable I will become and that will allow me to be molded more into the person He wants me to be. When I stay out of his hands, I grow hard again. I need to spend time in his hands to be softer, more pliable, easier to mold.
Why don't I do that?
Have thine own way Lord, have thine own way
Thou art the potter, I am the clay
Mold me and make me after thy will
While I am waiting, yielded and still.
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