Through the Window's of My Soul: 2011

Lamentations 4:2 The Precious “Sons” (Daughters) of Zion comparable fine gold how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers the work of the potter.

Ladies, we each in Christ are Earthen Pitchers, Esteemed Vessels the work of the Master Potter.

He knew us before he formed us in our mother’s womb. He shaped us for His glory from the very first time he sat us upon His potter’s wheel. The very first time he touched the clay of our flesh, the clay of our heart, the clay of our souls, the clay of our spirits. He squeezed, and pushed, molded and shaped us to reflect His glory.

But there was a another wheel waiting for us. A different kind of wheel. A grinding wheel. Working to break us, to shake us, to shatter our very heart and soul. A Wheel belonging to the God of this world. Grinding! Grinding! Grinding at the very core of who we are truly. The world did not wait until we were grown to start chipping away at the vessel God created. No, it did not wait until we were already born again, growing, rooted and grounded in Christ to begin to erode the beauty of who God created us to be, wanted us to be. No, the world got right on it. Sifting and grinding each us the moment we took our first breath in this fallen world.

I look around my home to survey vessels I might own. Pitchers, vases, crocks, bowls. Vessels, Earthen Pitchers what role do they play in our lives, I look around my home and I see vessels everywhere: vases, pitchers, crocks bowls. They are all different but beautiful in their own way. Most stand empty. Beautiful on the outside yet empty. Some are filled with bits and pieces of so much I-might-need-that-someday stuff that the beauty of the vessel is lost amongst the junk that fills the emptiness inside. And then I think about ard or woods gathering blooming beauty cutting till my hands are full, to fill an empty vessel sitting somewhere in my world. In an instant, that one vessel becomes something changed. It is transformed. Still the same but different. Not empty anymore. Beauty from the inside changing what we see to something more.

I also think about the times I have decided I have looked up on the overflowing junk in one box or another. I just up and emptied it out. I had decided I had seen enough, decided I had kept all that mystery filler long enough. I walk right to the waste basket and just dump. I don’t look, I don’t sift. I just dump. I do not want to see what falls into the vessel full of destined-for-the-grave- yard-of-waste-and-garbage. I just might want to keep something, hang on to it, continue to secretly hide it, put it back in the freshly emptied vessel. Why, Just one little thing couldn’t hurt. Would it really hurt?

I wonder Ladies, How many of us are empty vessels? How many us are like the vessel full of hidden-maybe-I will-need-it-someday hurts and pains.

1in 4 women have been battered

3 women battered every 15 seconds in the US

1in 3 women were victimized by Incest

1 in 6 women been victimized by rape or attempted rape

53% of all marriages end in divorce

More than 26% of women have been involved in adultery

1in 8 women live in poverty.

64% of women are obese

43% of women have had at least 1 abortion by age 45

1 in 200 women are or have been anorexic. 50% of girls 11-13 say they are fat

2 to 4% of women are bulimic

43% of teen and preteen girls fear being bullied in and out of school

73% of women experience domestic violence in their life time

Of this 73% 88% report emotional abuse.

Maybe the most harmful with the most lasting negative effect.

It seems to me the pain of a hurtful word, a spiteful word, a word meant to wound, a word meant to bring down, tear down, meant to destroy echoes through our mind, our heart and soul long after the winds of time take the person, and events surrounding the spewed out poison far away from us.

Ladies we are hurting

We bare the scares of our past in the very core of our vessel, our heart. Some of those hurts and pains found a permanent place in our vessels as far back as childhood. Filling these Vessels God formed with lies, lies from the world, lies from the enemy, lies spewed out by those who were suppose to love us, lies we tell ourselves. We look good on the outside; we manage to cover up the cracks, smooth out the crumbling clay. Buy a new skirt, do our hair just right, loose a little more weight, forgo that dessert, brush our teeth one more time, check the mirror one last time. Well, maybe I better wear that other skirt this one doesn’t cover that spot just right. We smile when we get there. Hug our sisters, shake hands when it’s appropriate and try to hold back that tear, cover up that pain that threatens to fill reveal itself through our eyes. The truth is we are vessels full of I-might-need-that-pain and hurt someday mystery filler that should be on its way destined for the graveyard of waste and garbage. And the glory that God intended for us to reflect. Is clouded, dimmed, and faded. It can’t quite shine. It can’t quite glow. Not like it should. Not like it can. Not like God meant for it to shine.

Some of us somehow managed to empty out all of the not-so-glorifying bits of unwanted-and-not-sure-what-is clutter that fills the emptiness of our vessels. There we stand all emptied out. No, pain. No, hurt. No, love. No, room for trust. No, letting in. No, getting close. Just empty, lonely. Afraid to fill ourselves for fear we’ll hurt. We just might feel. Here too, God’s glory refracts inward, slamming against the stone cold walls of an empty, hard heart.

Some bruises scar the clay, some bruises leave behind deep cracks in the vessels walls leaving behind gaping wounds, and some bruises go clear to the core leaving behind a soul full of lies that are somehow easy to believe, easy to embrace and not so easy to let go of.

I am forgettable

I am a failure

I am bad

I not worthy

I can’t be forgiven

I am stupid

I am not wanted

I am ugly

I am lazy

I am weird

I am of no value

I am defective

And the big one

I am not good enough.

Good did not call us to BE GOOD ENOUGH

Our hearts fill up with lies. Some lies we create, some the world convinces us they are true. And some lies, those we love the most dropped in our vessel along life’s way. Rejected, we skirt around the circle of women and clusters of conversation looking for another cracker and one more cup of coffee, hoping no one moves closer, we bury our face in books, papers, and shadows hoping to avoid the mommy talk around the park swing set. The intimate? The revealing? We push it away. Too risky. Too, scary. Too dangerous. The fragile vessel we so closely guard might just shatter once and for all. We build fences and boundaries around a well guard life a. Well guarded heart.

I think of a woman on her way to the community well, where circles of gossips clucked round, where along the way men gathered here and there whisper bits of highlights, bits of herself. Little pieces she one time shared somewhere in the dark.

Walking, head down, eyes hooded, trying to keep back the pain that threatened to reveal its self to so many. To those who would not care. She traveled the well-known path carrying her worn and fragile vessel to draw the lies that always waited there at that well. A well so deep, A well so dark, she hated to go there, she hated what she always came back with. The same lies as yesterday and the day before and the day before that day. Yet she was empty, lonely; so, she found herself once again trudging that same path. Maybe today, her water she drew from the deep dark well of regret would somehow quench the firey darts that plagued her heart. I wonder, if she dreamed of a day when the lies would cease, when the whisperers stayed silent, a day when the pain was gone, the regret no longer there. A day, when the self she had shared in the dark would disappear. I wonder, did she hope for another chance.

After all, she too was formed in her mother’s womb with hands belonging to the Master Potter. As she arrived at that so familiar well, there sat a man. A man she did not know. Yet, he knew so much. He knew it all. Yet in his eyes she saw hope, she saw the reflection of what she could be, what he already knew she would be. Yes, it looked like today at the well was going to be different. She let down her vessel in a different kind of well. She chose to believe the prophet; she chose to walk by faith. She chose to leave the lies behind and look into the eyes of her creator. She chose to allow him once again to put her on His Potter’s Wheel and mold and make her once more into a fitting vessel. A vessel that could finally reflect all the Glory of her Christ, Her God. Finally, Her Messiah had come.

I wonder if we could imagine for just a minute or two that our vessel full of lies, hurt, pain, and regret is an Alabaster Box. An Alabaster Box like the one another woman we know owned, who I imagine was also a woman full of hurt, full of pain, and rejected. Just like the Alabaster Box she so boldly carried to the soon to be crucified Christ where she proceeded to break the costly vessel with all its costly contents. She had paid a high price for that little box and all that it held. Close your eyes for just a moment and imagine, this little alabaster box full to the brim and one hurting, rejected, sin filled woman as she spills its contents over the Lamb of God.. Watch as the priceless so very fragrant contents run down the head of the Creator. Watch as it runs down his face. His eyes closed, his expression, loving, accepting of the sacrificial offering. Watch as this woman, who could be anyone of us, anoints the King of all kings, the Lord of all lords with all of her bottled up shame, with all her past mistakes, with all the lies she believes about herself. With the sins and mistakes that have cost her so much.

She didn’t stop there. No, she began to weep and weep and weep tears of regret, tears of shame, tears that flowed like a river over her Master’s feet. And, there before all the whispers, all the gossips, all the ones who hurt her, all the ones who would never forget, never forget and always accuse she washed the feet of her Savior, our Savior, washed his feet in a flood of tears.

Still, she didn’t stop. No, she lovingly, tenderly took down the veil she had so carefully hid behind for so long and revealed herself to all the world and silently bowed before her beloved and with the Glory of her hair, her God given veil, tenderly wipes the feet of the only true lover she had ever known. The Love of her very Soul. He was the only one who could turn her Alabaster Box into a Beautiful Vessel and fill it with Joy, Peace, Grace, and Mercy. A true reflection of God and all of His Glory, all he intended her to be from the very first moment he began to mold the clay.

How are we esteemed as earthen pitchers the work of the potter? Because we are daughters of the Most High God. Because we comparable to fine gold. Because we are precious in His sight. Because we have an altar where we can meet the Savior. Because we know the Potter. Not just any Potter We know the Master Potter. And we too can boldly carry our Alabaster Box to the throne of Grace break open its contents before our King anoint his head with all the costly ointment we treasured and called our own. We too can weep the tears of regret, sorrow, and shame upon the feet of Jesus We too can trust him as we bow before him to let down the veils we have hid behind for too long. We too can rest in the hands of the potter has he molds makes us once again into a Vessel that Reflects His Glory.

Copyright by Dianna Renee Jackson