Before it became a priceless vase…
before it held flowers…
before it was admired behind glass…
before collectors were willing to pay millions of dollars for it…
it was simply dirt.
The journey of pottery doesn’t begin on a potter’s wheel.
It begins in the earth.
Clay is dug from the ground, containing stones, roots, sand, and anything else the years have buried with it. It is rough. Unrefined. Ordinary.
Then the waiting begins.
The clay is thrown into a pit and soaked.
Not for minutes.
Sometimes for days.
Sometimes longer.
Nothing seems to happen.
But everything is happening.
Water slowly works its way into every particle. The clay softens. Hidden impurities begin to reveal themselves. Air pockets rise. Stones are removed.
Then…
it waits.
Eventually the potter begins kneading the clay.
He presses… hard.
He folds.
He turns.
He presses again.
Again and again.
Not to punish the clay…
but to prepare it.
Every trapped pocket of air must be worked out.
Every inconsistency must be blended.
Every weakness addressed.
Then…
it waits.
The clay rests.
The moisture equalizes.
The pressure subsides.
More waiting.
Only then does the shaping begin.
The wheel spins.
Hands press gently…
then firmly.
The clay rises.
It collapses.
It is gathered again.
Raised again.
The potter is never in a hurry.
When the shape is finally complete…
it still isn’t finished.
Then…
it waits.
Until it becomes leather hard.
Then the potter returns.
Edges are refined.
The base is trimmed.
Imperfections are quietly removed.
Once more…
it waits.
Slowly drying.
Too quickly and it cracks.
Too slowly and it cannot move to the next step.
The potter knows the difference.
Finally…
the fire.
Hours inside a kiln.
Temperatures hotter than the clay has ever known.
When it emerges…
it can never become clay again.
One fire changes everything.
But even then…
it waits.
Then the glaze is carefully applied.
Color begins to appear.
Delicate artwork is painted onto its surface.
But it still looks dull.
Lifeless.
The colors haven’t yet become what the potter intended.
Then…
back into the fire.
Again
Only after the second firing is the vessel complete.
Only then do the colors and the images truly come alive.
Or perhaps…
rather than complete…
only now is it truly ready.
Because no potter creates a vessel merely to admire it sitting on the wheel.
Or drying on a shelf.
Or surviving the kiln.
The vessel is made to be filled.
To be carried.
To be poured out.
To serve the purpose for which it was created.
| The most expensive piece of pottery ever sold brought more than forty million dollars. Imagine taking that masterpiece… and shattering it into a thousand pieces. What would remain? The same material it always was. The clay never stopped being clay. The clay never became priceless. The value was never in the clay. The value was always in the Potter. Scripture says,“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” — Ephesians 2:10 We are His workmanship.Created with His hands. By His design. For His purpose. In His image. During the waiting… the clay appears forgotten. During the kneading… everything familiar is pressed away. During the shaping… it seems as though it never quite becomes what it was. During the fire… it endures what no clay should survive. Yet every stage has purpose. Every pause has purpose. Every fire has purpose. Perhaps the waiting is not the negative experience we imagine it to be. Perhaps it is where the Potter does some of His finest work. |
Be faithful, my friends. Heaven is returning. —Steve Martin Choregeo Media |
Keep Exploring
This reflection is part of A Mirror Dimly, a companion to The Return of Heaven.