He is the Potter……. I am the clay.
The pressure of being molded and stretched and rearranged in my spirit is not enjoyable. Pain and tiredness accompany such artistry, as the lump of clay. I feel the ache of loss as pieces of me, I prefer to hold onto, are stripped away.
At times it feels nothing will be left of me at all, by the time He is done remaking me, so much gets chiseled off.
Then unexpectedly a bit of lightness enters my heart. I no longer carry weight he knew I would be more beautiful without. Expectations of myself……. dreams of being used in ways I was never created for…….. fears of not being in control…….. desire for things that always leave me unsatisfied…. attachments to certain places in the spotlight of others hearts……. Bit by messy bit He smooths these worn and jagged edges of my soul, left raw from tearing the parts of me too attached to my own agenda. He slowly molds the shape and contour of my will. I feel Him pressing in, deeper grooves into my mind and heart.
My love, sweet child, will satisfy. Surrender and let me make you into something lovely and whole.