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
Copyright by Dianna Renee Jackson
