Under the pressure of this world, I crack. And that lump of clay was my life, ready and waiting for God to sculpt me, or more likely, ready and waiting for me to sculpt me into what I thought my life should look like.Īs it would be, I’m not made of sturdy, sparkling glass. This was thick, sturdy, sparkling glass, able to withstand high temperatures or clumsy hands. I pictured myself as a crystal clear glass jar with a lump of grey sculpting clay inside.
I, as I tend to do, made it all about me.
I have to admit, I always got Paul’s metaphor wrong.
