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The Potter's Wheel
by David Eden

Once upon a time 
          upon my bed,
all the worries of the world
   weighing hard on my head.
So many problems.
   And no answers it seemed.
But as I fell into sleep
   I dreamed a dream…

I saw multitudes lying
   by a miracle well.
They were sick.
   They were crying.
      They were under a spell.
But whoever was dying
   in body or soul,
when they drank from this well
   would be perfectly whole.

But they were weak & crippled.
   It was so sad to see.
They couldn’t get to the water. 
   It was up to me! 

So I ran to the well
   to give them a drink.
but as I grabbed
   for the bucket---
     What do you think?
The bucket was broken!
   And I cried in despair.
I’d have to find help--
   from someone, somewhere.

So I found myself running.
   I searched far and wide. 
Till I came to a Potter’s House
   and I peeked inside.
I saw an old Potter.
   He was nervously working.
His potter’s wheel spinning
   and jumping and jerking.
He was forming a pot
   from a soft lump of clay.
Then I saw something weird
   about the pot he had made.

That pot was alive!
   That clay was… talking!
That jar was squirming
  and squealing and squawking!
The more that he shaped it
   the more it would squeal!
Till it cried:
     “No, Potter!
      Get me off this wheel!”

So he put away the pot.
   Then I cried to myself.
So many unfinished pots
   were growing hard
       on the shelf!

The Potter gave a sigh
   and took a new lump down.
But again the clay whined
   with the same angry sound.
He tried and he tried
   on those hard lumps of clay.
But each pot was soon      
   yelling: “No, Potter! No way!”

Those cold, old lumps
   couldn’t take all the pressure
of being formed into a
   beautiful, useful treasure.
Not one would be shaped
   by the Potter’s fine art.
I saw tears on his face. 
   It was breaking his heart.

After a very long silence...

I heard a small cry:
“Oh, Potter…
     Please give me
         just one more try.”

It was one of the pots
that hadn’t hardened too much,
   still soft for the molding
      of the Potter’s touch.

Now the Potter worked quickly,
   and to my surprise,
there was no grumbling,
      no griping,
           no angry outcries!
Just a few prayerful groans
   from his work on the wheel.
For thru the pain, the clay knew
   it was becoming more real.

Then a bright finish glaze
   was applied by the Potter.
And how it shined in the blaze
   as the furnace grew hotter!

Then he said: “It is ready!”
   And he gave it to me.
And we rejoiced in His work
   the world would soon see.

So I raced back to the well
   as the sun was setting!
Oh, what life from that well
   those folks would be getting!
What miracles I saw!
   What healings that day!
As living water poured out
   of that new jar of clay!


But then… I woke up.
   My dream was through.
And I felt the Lord
   speaking to me
       and to you…

How are the world’s
   problems and pain
       ever healed?
It’s when some clay   
    will remain
        …on the Potter’s wheel. 



















































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