The Potter’s Clay

     The word which came to Jeremiah from the Lord, saying, Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.  Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.*

In the cool of the evening I found myself being drawn away from where I was headed and walking down a lightly worn path, toward a small humble house, almost a tiny cottage. Possibly only a couple rooms in it.  There is a peculiar glow about it that seems to draw one towards it. I surprise myself that I am allowing myself to pursue this, I’ve been so caught up in my life, being so busy, I haven’t taken much time for much else.  As I approach, I see the door is open as if enticing one to see in, just a bit, I can see that it is a very simple place. A workshop of sorts, dirt type of floor, very earthy smells waft out as I stand there. I hear someone inside, I want to enter - but hesitate. I stand at the door and then softly knock.  I am greeted by a calm voice that seems to be laced with love to come in. I step inside to a small room. I looks like there are only 2 or 3 rooms at the most, very simple, only the essential needs if even that. I see a craftsman sitting at a spinning circular wheel. A lump of clay in His hand.

       His strong hand molds the clay a bit in His hand, inspects it a bit then works with what it is.  He firmly tosses it onto the center of the wheel and begins the work of centering the piece, watering the piece and working it back and forth, up and down,  until He can feel that it is perfectly centered into where He can work with it in a balanced manner. As I am drawn into this I’m so very focused on His hands, the small movements that cause so much impact on the shape of the clay.  His hands look scarred… He works silently, ever so gently forming the clay, drawing it into shape, placing pressure at the top to hollow it out, pulling up the sides and pressuring it into shape, he sees a blemish and then begins working and reworking to fix the blemish… all this time watering his hands and keeping the clay moist and pliable.   I release my eyes from Him and look around, broken and misshaped vessels are sitting about, Sacks of moist clay, tools… all with a layer of clay dust and dried clay. I see Him remove the finished vessel from the wheel, only to take a dried broken vessel in hand.

       He places the vessel on his bench and proceeds to work it with a mallet and brings it into small pieces and eventually into powder, adding water to bring it into a clay form once again… setting it aside to rest until He can work it again, and taking up another broken piece to see how He can restore it…. my eyes watch His hands, the scars are seen again… my eyes watch, but my mind wonders - What am I witnessing?  Who is this master craftsman? What are these pieces? Is this me? Is this a message for me, given from the scarred hands that took nails on a cross for me? Is this…. my mind races at this awareness, the clay, the water, the molding.. my busy life, my rushed days, … He looks at me for a brief moment, His eyes seem to plead with me… “do you see?” Oh Lord, like Israel, I need to be remade, like Isaiah I need to be undone!   I need to be worked in your hands, pounded, watered, beaten to a pure clay without air of myself inside. Firmly placed on Your wheel, firmly held and worked with to be centered in YOU. Watered with your grace and mercy so that I am able to be pliable and molded. Pressure me that I can rest in Your hands and trust your fingers and tools, to make me into Your vessel that, would be worthy of a KING’s service. 

      My mind racing within me, the Master dimmed his candles and motioned for the door.  It was growing late and I knew I needed to go, I breathed deeply wanting to remember every aspect of this place, I turned to see HIm again but He was exiting to another room, I feebly uttered a thank you, feeling unworthy to speak even that.  I entered out into the cool and damp night. I had much on my mind, I had so much to ponder… 

                                *Jer 18

Mothers and Fathers Day

Yesterday holds our memories,

Today is a gift, 

Some say Tomorrow never comes, 

but tomorrow is the start of forever... 

So, I’ll see you tomorrow. 

     I heard a song this morning about mothers, as it is Mother’s Day weekend.  It was by Chonda Pierce A Mother’s Prayer ,  it reminded me of my mom and the journey we had together.  The last line is similar to the line Mom & Dad taught me to pray, only it was from a mom’s heart perspective. “If I die before they wake, they’ll know I lived for Jesus’ sake.”   This song reminded me of the heart journey I took, over my lifetime with my parents, and the example of grace that they were.  

       As with most kids, the parent at home isn’t always the people that others know, sometimes but not always - and to an extent, that is how it should be.  It’s that way in my girl’s lifetime as well; good, bad, ugly, beauty all happen in a family, in our’s laughter and tears filled in the gaps.  For some reason, it seems that I was closer to my mom than my dad, I have a good healthy relationship with them both, but seemed to relate better to my mom...  I have thought for sometime about blogging about her and dad, but there is just so much, where to start, what to talk about... I guess my overlying thought in the end of it all is... I am so thankful that God gave me the time with them that He did, so I had time to come to understand where they came from and how that formed them into who they were.  This will be the first set of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day without them.  11/2017 & 8/2018 Nine months apart until they were back together.  Maybe now is the time to write. 

        For many years as I grew up, I kind of held it against them that they weren’t as I thought they should be.  They were more critical than encouraging, they asked annoying rhetorical questions, or they didn’t notice how hard I was trying or trying something new, sometimes they just didn’t seem to ‘get it’... I was impatient with them.  And yes girls, I do some of these things too...  As an adult I slowly came to understand, I slowly began to appreciate, who they were, what they grew out of and their huge accomplishments they had made -in spite of the losses they experienced early in their lives.   They both had what we would call trauma in their early childhood. Mom’s mother (Gma Lena) died when mom was 8 and Uncle Leland was 10.   My Dad’s parents divorced when he was 8 or 9 yrs old, in 4th grade, and thereafter she had 4 more marriages and 3 more divorces, he had step dads with abuse, alcohol issues  ect.  Both of my grandfathers were the stabilizing people in my parent’s lives.   My grandpa Zim remarried after grandma’s death.  The grandma that I grew up with tried her best to be a mom, but she had no experience at that, being a single gal all her life.  That mother daughter close relationship wasn’t there with my mom, she learned the work that needed done, but not the relationship building.  Dad and his brother kind of raised themselves in southern Illinois, during the depression, doing odd jobs that young boys could do: paper routes, selling ice chunks for freezers, shining shoes in the pool hall and learning to play snooker... while my grandma was often working in a diner or something.  My grandpa Zobrist did all he could to help support the boys by working on farms and later on the railroad, but it was a horrible depression, everyone was poor.  My Grandpa ended up moving to Peoria with his new wife (my Grandma June) and after a few years  Dad and Uncle Don showed up at their doorstep as well, with comic books and a white shirt.  Both had dropped out of school and caught a bus to Peoria.  Worked in gas stations ect until getting on a Caterpillar, both excelling at the GED program, apprentice course, working their way up over the years,  to where they “wore a white shirt and tie to work” and retired at an early age very comfortably.  Mom grew up on the farm until moving into town, after high school she went to Brown’s business school, worked at Cat, met dad on a blind date and they figured out life together from there.  After marrying they found the Lord and that was their Saving Grace literally.  Mom had been raised by Godly parents, but dad had little to no church experiences.  

      So, as I look back at what parenting role models they had to work with, the lack of close parental relationships that they had... and I remember the tough times that they went through as life went on.  I see the real reason for the joy they had,  in giving us what they didn’t get as kids: vacations camping all over, time exploring the outdoors, importance of family and friends to do things with, so many healthy relationships that I was given.  Yes, there were negative experiences in life, to me and them, but when they were wrong they apologized, sincerely owned it.  When falsely accused or “done wrong”,  they reacted with grace and mercy and prayed for the person/people.  Early on,  I realized that I never had heard my parents raise their voice at one or the other.  I didn’t realize how uncommon this was... then I married and had conflict...  at first I saw it as a fault with them - it caused me to have the need to learn how to resolve conflict,  after the age that most already know this.  This was not a good time to just now be learning this... but now,  I look at that and I think they were trying to right a wrong from dad’s past.  He heard a lot of things from stepdads that a child doesn’t want to hear... he didn’t want his children to hear conflict.  My mom wasn’t ‘mothered’ much after age 8.  She was loved, but missed out on that mother’s wisdom, care, nurturing... she lacked that role model, she knew the work that needed done, but not the relationship building.  She had a lot of regrets, we talked about it, it makes me sad, I now see that she really did try hard and gave us kids more than what she had, better than what she had.  Isn’t that a parent’s natural wish?   I think by the time her journey ended,  she understood, we understood, God understood,  (you do your best with what you are given) and forgave herself.
     The legacy she and dad left was amazing. Especially considering what they started with.   Even looking at the spiritual end of things. Mom did all she could do to understand the scripture, to learn to meditate on it, study a bit,  her parents weren’t taught these things, they were trying to learn to read, comprehend and preach the Bible in English instead of German and eek out a living in the midst of wars and loss of loved ones the Bible was sustaining them!   She saw me doing Bible Studies and would ask about it, how to do it.  She found what worked for her and how to make the Word apply to her life.   Through her cancer when she couldn’t read, she went to audio bibles, cd’s and books, lots of books!  They sustained her as she tried to keep busy,  working with any handwork she could still do, and figure out who could use it, baby hats and blankets to wash rags. They were not the grand caliber of what she had done over the years, but her heart was in wanting to do something for others,  even when she was sick.   She extended grace and forgiveness in abundance, she was not perfect, but she was repentant and forgiving.  This was so wise,  because this gave her peace of heart and mind in her last years, not more regrets.  Some of the last words she said to me, in asking the whereabouts of  grandchild, “it will all be ok, it will be ok” and her “I love you too”.  I will never forget dad sitting by her bedside that day, giving her a kiss and holding her hand all the way Home.  Dad was the most patient man I ever  knew, a lot like Grandpa Zobrist.  He always spoke well of people, gave them a second chance and the benefit of a doubt. I just saw an old friend of Dad’s and he mentioned missing dad and that he wished he “had his disposition” not much riled up my dad -if he was riled up,  you knew it was a big deal!. :) But he always had a bit of wit for you,  a “geneism” as we now call them.   Dad, with having no upbringing in a church or faith,  went on to self teach himself the Bible.  He knew the succession of all the kings and judges, happenings in the Bible,  battles and wars and how world history fit in with the Bible.  He taught all of us kids in Sunday School.  He could have  ‘ran circles around’  those who had been ‘churched’ all their lives.  When he passed on, many didn’t realize he hadn’t been raised in a churched family.  Another first generation PTL!
    So, after all this rambling I guess my point is this,  what I learned from  Gene and Caroll: Don’t be to quick to criticize, you don’t know what that person’s starting point was.  Generations before you or those from different cultures,  lived in very different times and ways, give them credit for that - not criticism, honor them for the obstacles they have overcome, recognize the confusion today’s day and time must present them.   Simplicity holds wisdom, sometimes I long for it, but He has me Planted in today, in His present day and time  - so that’s where I’ll attempt to Bloom with His Grace. He gives me Enough.