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. |
