In the potter’s hands I am clay,
Lovingly molded day by day.
The Master Potter has a plan for me
In the future I’ll be able to see.
Why is He shaping me like this?
I don’t want pain, just bliss.
Why must my heart ache?
I feel as if it’s about to break.
Even though I continue to wrestle,
The Potter is making me a stronger vessel.
I often argue and complain too much
And don’t always yield to His touch.
I must be shaped on the potter’s wheel
While all the cracks He will heal.
He will mold and fashion me into
an image of Jesus the world can see.