Master potter,
brilliant creator,
I have hidden myself
within the lump of clay.
Chip away at my false beliefs
and defense mechanisms.
Sculpt me into the form
you desire,
the beautiful, precious
essence of me
you dreamed up
and placed in the world–
for I yearn to emerge.
Isaiah 64:8 Still, God, you are our Father. We’re the clay and you’re our potter: All of us are what you made us.
Our Master Gardener, 