Sculpture

upon the cool damp clay I lay my hands
fingertips coaxing the desired shape
my eyes never see a shapeless lump
but the potential of what I can make it become

oh my Father
even while my palms are still covered
with the slick wet grayness upon the wheel
I rejoice that in Christ You see me
not as a pile of human frailty
but as the person You're patiently shaping me to be

oh my Heavenly Sculptor
please make my life Your masterpiece