The Potter formed me in his hands,
Gently pressing and pulling me into shape.
He adorned me beautifully,
And placed me in the fire
To strengthen and finish me.
From plain and without form,
Disorganized and without purpose,
To new and useful,
And designed with a specific purpose in mind.
I was used,
I looked like what I’d been through,
Cracked and broken,
With missing pieces
That never again fit back in place.
I was pushed aside,
Deemed unfit and useless,
Until I was discovered by one
Who saw beyond the broken fragments
And recognized The Potter’s design.
He took the shattered pieces,
And figured out where they belonged.
He saw the gaps and ragged edges,
Mended them with gold,
And covered me with a protective shield.
When he was finished,
He stepped back to examine his work.
Gone were the broken pieces.
His tender touch and ministration
And made me beautiful, again.