Lately, I’ve felt worn out. 

I am worn out from this fight. I’ve been in this war way too long. I am battered, scarred, and wounded. 

I’ve been attacked simply because I had a difference of opinion. I’ve been fired upon for standing up for biblical principles and defending my faith. Perhaps you’ve been there, too.

The darts thrown my way seem to pierce deeper with every thrust. I know what Jesus said: “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first… If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also” (John 15:18, 20).

Even with these words looming before me, it’s still hard.  

Don’t get me wrong! I realize that people across the world have it far worse than you or me. They live under the scrutiny of watchful eyes, knowing that they could be martyred for their faith in Jesus. So, I’m not complaining. I’m just tired.

forgiven-thomas-blackshearI remember the first time I saw this picture. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from it.

I thought, “I wonder where he’s been?” It certainly seems that he’s been around the block a few times.

But then I stared at it longer. And that’s when I saw it…

I saw myself in this portrait. I felt just like this man.

How about you? Does it seem to convey your story as well? Maybe how you’re feeling at the moment?

Are you having a hard time standing up? Are your clothes torn? Your hands worn and dirty? Your hair disheveled? 

Now, glare into it longer. How do you know that this feeble man is going to be okay?

Well, here’s my answer: I know that he will be okay simply because the One holding him up will carry him to a safe place and clean his wounds, comb his hair, give him new clothes, and provide rest. I can’t think of a better picture than this, can you?

Do you ever feel like a lump of clay that hasn’t been molded yet? You haven’t seen your worth/purpose? You think of yourself as a pauper wearing rags wandering through life.

Isaiah the prophet said, “O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand” (Isaiah 64:8)generic-wheel-image

Here’s the thing! Our Potter is seated at the Potter’s wheel. Waiting! Hoping for willing vessels. He wants to mold us into something usable, something really beautiful.


And let me tell you – the most beautiful souls are the most moldable ones. Because they are willing to let Him change them from the inside out. They are soft clay in the hands of the Potter.

In order to be a true light for Jesus, we need to bear a strong resemblance to Jesus. We need to walk and talk like Him. Of course we can never be perfect, but it is possible to resemble the One we belong to.

Climbing up on the Potter’s Wheel and letting Him mold us will give Him the opportunity to create a TRUE masterpiece. But we have to be willing vessels. Willing to let Him clean out the impurities.

And letting the bad stuff go is not always easy, but a necessary part of the molding.

I believe you want this. I know I do. Think of your Potter smiling at His finished product and proudly displaying it for all to see. No doubt, you are one of His grandest creations yet.

As you think of this picture, read carefully the words to the following poem. And then climb up onto our Potter’s wheel and let Him get to work. That’s where I’ll be.

by: Myra Brooks Welch

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”

“Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three”. . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its bow.
“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.

A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He’s going once, and going twice –
He’s going – and almost gone!
But the MASTER comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the MASTER’S hand.

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