Smak Dab in the Right Place

It was Friday nite and with a group of 7, no pun intended, well maybe so, we all went smak dabbin. That's a cool pottery place in town. Actually, it is a cool lil shop close to where I live. I pass by it all the time wondering what on earth they are up to in there. It has always piqued my curiosity, although not strongly enough to venture in on my own to investigate the goings on there. I have always liked clay. I like making things with my hands. I work well with my hands, but they are not always treated to such tactile delights as moulding or sculpting, mostly I am a hair moulder sculptor, but it's not quite the same. I made a dish once in primary school. I can remember being so proud of it. Some how this lil shop evoked fond memories of that small red and white dish that I had made so long ago, along with all the feelings attached to it. So perhaps I was on a quest to recapture a past pleasant moment of time in which I could relive a childhood playtime. I was surprised to find that it was not my pretty little red and white pot memories that were stirred. Instead I found myself being fascinated by the original story of how God created us. I could see my Father sitting at the potters wheel, throwing on the clay, the wheel whirling around and around. HE was up to something, something really creative. Something mind boggling and never before attempted. He we moulding man. Moulding me. Gen.2:7 And the Lord God formed a man's body from the dust of the ground and breathed into it the breath of life. Inside me I could feel the turning, the spinning, as I watched the pottery wheel go round and round, and on the outside the pressing down the pulling up, the pressure of His hands upon my life, stretching me, shaping me, moulding me, forming me, sometimes painfully hard, sometimes gently and softly.  I felt at home here in this place, maybe because it felt so familiar, and then I began to realise why I liked this clay thing, it gave to me a way to be like my Dad. I was doing as He did. His creativity was coming forth because I was like Him. I am my Father's daughter. It felt so good to claim my right to move as HE moves. His pleasure had become my pleasure. I had forgotten what I had been made of and how. I too am an earthenware vessel skillfully and wonderfully made to hold the Spirit of God. I am God made, Spirit filled, and now able to be skillful and creative myself. Wow wee. My Dad, HE is a potter. HE is the Master Potter, and I am one of His potts. I like this. I like His work. We were made for His good pleasure. No wonder the attraction. I am not sure what everyone else experienced that night, but it was a night filled with delight, with laughter, and a sense of accomplishment and joy. I think we all left with a deeper connection to who we were meant to be, and what we were capable of if we hadn't already gotten that one figured out. It was a good experience and I am sure many sparks flew round about in all our minds and will be for quite some time yet to come. For me I didn't really care about the how to's as much as the let me at it. I was hesitant at first, too many ideas, but when I settled it in my mind that here was this awesome opportunity to make an idea come to life then I was sold on it. I felt just like a kid in a candy store. I had  hands, some earth, some water, all the right fixins, smak dab in the middle of a new adventure. I plan on putting a candle in my masterpiece so that I can watch the light shine out of it. I can hardly wait to see. I wonder if maybe our DAD had some of the same kind of intentions when HE made us.