What if it were not your depravity you were afraid of seeing
but your splendour?
What shyness shields you
from His revelation?
Remember you are not yet fully formed,
clay He moulds again and again and again.
You are well used, and at times worn.
That he must take you in his loving hands to repair.
Cracks are not mistakes,
although you believe yourself a vessel to be perfected.
What piece of art was ever correct?
He would rather make you what he needs in each moment.
One day the bowl from which others eat,
one day the cup from which they pour.
Come to the Potter’s House,
as naked and holy as you are.
His touch brings ministrations
to ease every ache.
See how you turn so beautiful
upon his wheel.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry