A Potter sat at a wheel with a lump of clay. Carefully he cupped the mud in his hands and as the wheel turned, a beautiful smooth shape was formed. A tall, shapely and delicate vase.
The Potter scratched at the bottom, dipped it into glazes of deep rich colors and then fired it in an oven to make it strong. He finally sat back and admired the vase. It was very good.
The Potter carefully packed up the vase, along with some other vessels he had created and entrusted them into the care of a Gallery where vases could be viewed and given a home.
The special vase stood tall and quiet as people passed by , and believing that clay has no ears, spoke praises and judgments on the vase and the other pottery works around it.
There where many vessels like this in the shop:
Some were for holding food,
Some where for holding keys or trinkets
Some where to hold refreshments
Some were for holding plants and flowers
Some were rustic in style and others needed an acquired taste to appreciate.
And some made a strong enough statement about beauty that their only purpose was to stand all alone and be appreciated.
The vases were often picked up and admired and turned over (because that is where the price can be found, of course). They might be carefully put down and returned to their place on display. Or sometimes they were carried gently from the Gallery to a new home to fulfill it’s intended use.
One day, the vase observed a patron shove his way through the door of the Gallery. He was sloppy in speech and dizzy when he walked. He carried his own glass vessel that had been labeled with it’s very own name.”Jack Daniel”
The man bumped into the display of pottery. One of the vessels fell to the floor and broke into pieces. And the tall vase rocked and bumped quite roughly against two other pieces, and then teetered back into place.
An uproar! The horrors! Patrons complained and the man was escorted out of the Gallery back into the street, where he had already forgotten what had just happened.
With words of disgust about the man and his misdeeds to the Gallery, the broken vessel was swept up and dumped into a spare box and forgotten.
The vase stood tall and quiet. And patrons again admired it, and praised and judged the vase nicely. That is, until one patron picked it up to admire it. In the process of turning it over they found a chip. The glaze had been knocked off and the dull clay was exposed! The vase was brought to the Gallery’s attention.
“Sincere apologies!” No clue when that happened!That such a vase with this kind of damage was still on display and priced so high!”
The patron chose another vase, and as they left, the tall vase was marked with a sticker and sent to the dark back of the gallery to be sold for half price.
There it sat. For a long time. Or perhaps it was really a short time. Because when you are lonely and sitting in the dark, time can be difficult to tell.
But there it sat until a cleaning day, and the space was needed for something else of more value. The vase was placed in a box and sent out the back door into the alley to be taken by anyone who might have interest.
An Artist happened by the box first. He regularly checked the alley of this particular Gallery, as he had often found boxes with their discards sitting outside the back door. And he always found use for the pieces in his work.
He dug through the contents of the box, and under the vase found broken piece from the vessel that had been smashed. He picked up the vase and admired it and turned it over. Of course he saw the price, but he also recognized the initials of the creator scratched into the bottom. They were his Fathers.
He searched through the broken shards again and found that important piece with the price…and the creators initials.
The artist picked up the box with the vase and the vessel and took it back into the Gallery. He pulled all the money out of his billfold and emptied His pockets and asked to pay for the items he had found.
“They are worth nothing to us. Broken. Free for the taking.”
But to the Artist they were worth everything. And he paid full price.
The artist took the pieces home to his Fathers house. And together they lovingly re-fashioned and shaped the pieces that had been broken onto the vase, so that the chip and pieces became a part of the vases character and it became something brand new.
The vase was given it’s own place in the studio. And if anyone asked of it’s value, the answer was always,
Now what if I tell you the story again? But the Potter is God in his home up in heaven. And His Son Jesus Christ is the Artist, who has paid the full price for our sins.
What if the Gallery is “the good life”. And the street is where trouble brews. And all the patrons are people,who pass judgments all our life though.
And the vessels are Gods creation. Yes, it is me and It’s you. Some hold something, some hold nothing, some have beauty, Some do stagger with a dizzy life view.
Some sit quiet, some hide cracks.Some just seem to have it all. Some have chips, some are broken from the perils of life’s falls.
What if the vase is a woman. Who is trying to stand stately and tall. But finds herself shaken and troubled. And thinks she has no one to call
We like to fix things that are broken.Or toss those things out and buy new. But this just does not work when it’s people. We should ask “What would Jesus here do?”
Each one of us was formed in a vessel. A woman God has fashioned and formed.He loves her, and provided salvation. New life for her and her newborns
So please today think of your mothers. The thoughts may be thick, or be thin. But remember all mothers are human. Created in the image of Him.
Happy Mothers day. In Him, you are “Priceless”
Story and images are copywrited to the author of this blog
A little round raindrop sat in a puddle.
The little rain drop had been quite a traveler. She had landed in ponds, and rivers and oceans all around the world.
Her best friend was the sun, who would lend her his sunbeams to ride up high into the sky on his warm rays of light.
And then she would blow with the wind and leap back down to earth again at thrilling and exciting speeds, never knowing where she would land next.
Not so thrilling was the sound of childrens voices that often chided her with “Rain, rain. Go away!”
Today the taunt hurt right to her middle. Today, she had not landed in a beautiful pond or a quick flowing creek. Today she had landed in a rut of dirty, mucky puddles beside a barn gate.
The children chanted loudly at her to go away and they stomped hard in the puddles making her leap about in an undignified way. She had lost her shine, as she picked up dirt with every bounce made by the boots.
The little raindrop got angry and decided that she would indeed go away, and never return. She would go so far away even the wind couldn’t catch her.
When the sun came out, the little raindrop called out to her friend. He barely recognized her in the puddle of mud.
The sun sent down his rays to warm her up to the sky. She reached the wind, but begged the sun to take her higher. At the top of the rolling fluffy clouds she again begged the sun to take her even higher.
As she rode the rays she noticed that they were not as warm as they had been down in the cloud. She had climbed so high, determined never to fall to earth again. But her coat began to harden and sparkle, and she started to shiver because it was so cold. She had reached Nimbostratus, a cloud in the sky that was biting and cold.
It grew dark out when the sun went to bed. But the little raindrop was not alone. A wisp named Verglas noticed her tiny, glassy glint in the moonlight. He was a covetous creature, who was always trying to collect raindrops for himself.
He quickly came up with a scheme to keep the little raindrop up with him in his world of cold and ice. He offered her a dress of white lace, telling her it would keep her warm.
But as beautiful as it was, when she put it on, it wasn’t warm. And it weighed her down and she could hardly move in the dress. She did not like it here. She did not want to stay with Verglas. She wanted to go back to her friend the Sun, and the warm earth.
But Verglas would not let her go so easy. He began adding layers upon layers of heavy lace around her. Verglas had an entire garden of little crystals, made of drops just like the cold little raindrop, and he wanted to keep her there too.
But Verglas, in his carelessness and haste, put too much lace on the little raindrop. The little raindrop was so heavy she slipped from the sky. She was so heavy, that Verglas couldn’t hold her up when he tried to catch her.
The raindrop floated back down to earth, her white lace dress parachuting her slow and gently.
She landed silent, beside a frozen pond, where no one took notice of her amongst all the other white dressed snowflakes that had fallen from Verglas’ garden with her.
Pictures are of our raindrop and snowflake puppets. They are crystal beads on beading wire. The snowflake is a tatted snowflake with bead embellishment.
Not to be reprinted for distribution or publication without direct permission from the owner of this website. c2017