The Potter and The Clay

God is the Potter
And I am the clay.
A constant reminder,
That I need today.

He pieced me together,
In His image I’m formed.
He continually shapes me,
From dust I’ve been born.

But, over the Potter,
What right has the clay?
Should the pot ask it’s maker,
“Why have you made me this way?”

If the craftsman is sovereign
Over that which he makes,
How much more is the Lord
When we raise the stakes?

He does what He pleases,
That’s what it means to be God.
He doesn’t need our approval,
acceptance, or nod.

Deny that He is,
The fools will try.
But He gives us existence;
Without Him we die.

Raises up whom He will,
And on others He’ll trod.
What business do we have
Passing judgment on God?

He has mercy on some
And others He’ll harden.
No apologies given,
He does not need our pardon.

You’ll ask: “how could He find fault,
If He’s so divine?
Why does he care
If I’m wicked or kind?”

Well, He made us with purpose,
To love Him and our fellows,
But we spit in His face
And curses we bellow.

He’d be perfectly just
To destroy His creation,
But mercy He showed
As He knelt to our station.

Into the story,
The Creator put on flesh and blood,
To revive His creation
And pull us up from the mud.

He gave up his life
That we might be redeemed.
Revealed the mystery,
The ancient Heavenly scheme.

He was raised up to life,
Into heaven he strolled,
Salvation and freedom,
To the Redeemer we hold.

If you have never,
Then today is the day,
Submit to your Maker,
Ye vessel of clay.

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