This form certifies that I, the undesirable, realize that I am simply dust in a world full of pots of clay. I am broken, and hurting, and there is not much left of me. I look around me, and I see people being used to help others and bring relief, but I don’t feel like I’m useful for much of anything right now. I used to be a little jar, not very significant but at least happy and formed, but someone cracked me and since then, I have been broken down and crushed again and again until all that is left of me is a fine, soft, thick powder. I hold my breath, afraid that if I relax for a second and exhale all of the ugly things trapped inside of me, I will blow myself away and forever lose even the possibility of becoming something. And whistling around me is a full blown tornado, with the intent to whip me up and toss every bit of me across the four corners of the earth.
I also realize that only you, my Creator, protect me from this wind, cupping me in your hand to keep me from dissolving completely into nothing. I’m not sure why you care about me, a small, grey, pummeled pile of sediment, but for some reason you do.
Additionally, I realize that you have poured the water of your Spirit upon me, so I have now graduated from “pile of dust” to “dab of mud.” This is a great step up for me. I am still honestly a giant muddy mess, cast on the potter’s wheel without much of a form, but at least I am a little more cemented in the form that has a bit of potential, instead of being able to fall apart at the slightest brush of air.
But the world keeps gusting wind at me, cracking my surface and leaving me parched and gasping for your Spirit. I cannot revive myself. You have to do it for me.
I am hurting. I feel lonely. I feel useless and ugly and insignificant. My brain and others tell me that you have a plan for me, but I, in the current form of “precursor to the pottery,” have no way of knowing what the heck I am, because I am not the Creator and therefore can only dream of the things I could be.
I realize that I’m just a simple pile of dust, and you have the ultimate and much more beautiful plan, but I have one request. Please start creating soon. I have no idea if I am ready to be molded yet, but I really would like to be something other than a small mound of clay that possesses only potential, not purpose. I would like to be useful. Maybe you can give me some designs and unique patterns that sets me apart from everyone else, to tell legends and stories like Greek vases, but even if I only end up a small, plain little clay dish, that would be okay, too.
Just use me. Make me.
Signed, the undesirable,
Me.
