There was once a young girl who sat anxiously on the edge of a stool, riveted by the equipment before her. A master Potter took a ball of clay and placed it on the wheel as she leaned in as close as possible, but still maintaining enough distance to refrain from topping in face first. Her eyes locked with the lump and she was transfixed with all possible attention, as if the gray mound was in fact her own soul hanging in the balance, for indeed, it was.
The wheel spun and the master Potter used His sizable hands to begin the process of shaping the mass. He held steady along the piece’s sides as it began to grow and form under His stable grip. This delighted the girl as a disproportionate smile stretched around her budding face and her eyes lit up with excitement. She was a most engaging fan, fully focused and completely delighted. Her “oh”s and “ah”s bubbled up as she unabashedly wore her emotions plainly, and transparently affirmed the master Potter in His design. She giggled with excitement as He traced His fingers along the edges to create a unique design and she gasped with pleasure as he added unique touches that she considered genius. Overall, she could barely contain her excitement for how the piece was forming under His care and she was beside herself with joy and elation.
When the piece came to what the girl believed to be the crescendo, she clapped her hands with joy and thanked the Potter excessively and expressed her gratitude for His masterful work. She anticipated the slowing of the wheel and the delivery of the shapely vessel, however, as her cordial acknowledgements of indebtedness came to a dwindling close, she began to signal the Potter through polite social cues that she was satisfied with His work and that He may cease. Her heart began to speed as she slowly became aware that the wheel was actually not slowing and the Potter’s fixed gaze on His creation had remained unbroken. She tried to signal His attention that she was done, thank you, but she slowly realized that He has no intention of stopping, and she became even more frantic in her motions to discontinue the shaping process.
Realizing that her efforts were futile, she sat back, unsettled and eyes shifting between the master Potter and the outstanding vessel. Suddenly the vessel gained a new maturity and a beauty that surpassed what the girl had expected. She attempted to engage the Potter in appeals saying, “Sir, it looks fine. No, seriously, this is good. You don’t have to do anymore. You can stop now, I like it like this. Excuse me, I think it looks great. Can you… can you please, um… please, I don’t know what to do with this and… Sir, I don’t understand.” For you see, as the vessel gained curvature, length, and beauty without parallel, and the girl became more and more distraught with the exceptional creation. The vessel had moved beyond her expectations and the beautiful and cherishing flourishes He lavished on the vessel drove her to discomfort. The beauty was beyond what she had hoped and beyond her expectations. Her stomach turned and her breathing quickened. Her toes curled as she uncomfortably shifted on the stool, rationalizing away the beauty and trying to avert her eyes. She continued to attempt to argue away the vessel’s becoming existence as she turned her face away and thought, this is a mistake. He made a mistake. This is not me. He has clearly been mistaken.
She finally felt as though the emanating beauty of the vessel was slowly crushing her and finally, unable to tolerate the exquisiteness of the vessel, in a moment of unrestraint, she leapt from her stool and drove her small hands like claws through the center of the moist clay and the masterpiece collapsed beneath her grip. The wheel came to a halt as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet His, only to find His eyes gazing steadfastly back at her’s. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “but I could not take it anymore. This is too much for me. It was too beautiful for me to behold and… in a moment of self-defense I believed my only option was to destroy it. I’m sorry, but I believe the shape that it has now assumed is more appropriate. At least, this is what I am more comfortable with.” Seconds ticked by, each one leaving an echoing scar on time and she felt her heartbeat pulsing through her clay-covered fingertips. She sighed sorrowfully and released her encrusted hands from the mutilated creation and slowly sat back on the stool, averting her eyes in shame. “It was too good for me.” She murmured. Seconds ticked by again as the master Potter stood from His stool and knelt beside her’s. “Do you trust me?” He asked as He searched her despondent eyes and her lips began to quiver. Her eyes searched the corners of the room and she blinked rapidly to guard against incoming tears, avoiding His steady gaze. “But I don’t deserve it.” She whispered to Him and looked in His eyes. “It’s too beautiful for me. It’s too much for me.” He spoke again: “Do you trust me?” Her face tightened with emotion as she tried to hold back from crying. She slowly nodded her head affirmatively. He stroked her rosy cheek and smiled at her with deep acceptance and understanding as He moved back towards His stool and turned the wheel on once again. “Then let me show you the truth, Amanda. Trust me, Beloved. Allow me to shape and mold you, and allow me to show you a beauty beyond your furthest expectation.” With that His hands set to work once again, patiently and without regret, as the wheel spun and the master Potter’s hands shaped the beauty of a young girl’s destiny into a magnificence that she scarcely could tolerate but chose to accept though it felt as though the sharpness of beauty ripped straight through her. The beauty pierced through the shadows of lost hopes and lies and the girl’s soft heart was shaped through His gentle firmness into the likeness of celestial beauty under the careful crafting of her Master’s hand.