Youthful ignorance saw myself as average. A pretty vessel that could be used by the master but was just as easily left on the shelf as an addition to His collection or passed over in favor of the beautiful vases with curved necks and golden engravings. Acceptable but not extraordinary.
Experience proved myself to be ugly. Broken, cracked, wrinkled, ruddy. A clay pot deserving of the trash heep. One whose purpose was forfeited because of its’ condition. Useless to the King to carry scraps, much less His water or wine. Placed in a corner, hoping not to be seen but also not to be completely cast aside.
Truth showed myself to be beautiful. A transformed and completely unique vessel. Still possessing the same cracks and broken places, but each one molded into a pattern that the master’s hand had designed. Each crack becoming a river in which His water flowed freely. Each broken edge becoming a waterfall that cascaded as the vessel was filled. A vessel of honor, not in its’ own right but because of what the King had done. Chosen, not left on a shelf. Carried in His loving hands to specific places for specific purposes. Carried with the knowledge that its’ brokenness would allow His water to fall, touch, testify, teach and transform others. Softening other lumps of clay so that the Master could pick them up, tenderly mold them and create other beautifully broken vessels for His glory.
(This is thanks to the truth written in Zach Neese’s book, How To Worship A King.)