“I DON’T WANT TO BE USED THIS WAY! STOP!” The mug screamed. The man listened intently, but still poured more freshly brewed coffee into the cup. The man replies, “This is what you were made for.”
The glass ranted on with full force, “I DON’T WANT TO BE A MUG! I WANT TO BE A PRICELESS VASE!
The man thoughtfully listened, but still drank deeply from the glass. He then set the mug down softly onto the counter.
“This is what I made you to be. You have a great purpose,” the man replied calmly, “why are you fighting what you were intended for?”
“Unimportant, is what I am!” the cup murmered continually, “I don’t want to be hidden in a cupboard, and set among all the other glasses. I want to be beautiful, and shown-off on your entry table! There I will be seen by everyone who comes here! I NEED to be made more important…more valuable!”
“Are you sure?” the man asks, holding the mug by the handle, and bringing it closer to his own face, “I really think you ought to trust me. I formed you on my pottery wheel. I know you, and I know what I’m doing.”
The cup sulked. “I know who I am. You are invisible to me most of the time, and unless you’re using me, no one sees ME! You don’t know who I am. Let me tell you something! I am not…this!” At that, the mug slipped purposefully from the man’s fingers and flung himself to the marble floor. Shattering into many pieces, the cup was silent. The man tediously, and lovingly picked up every last piece of the mug, and gently tossed the pieces into the Re-do bin.
Some time later, after being soaked and recycled, the mug was now back in line at the fresh top of the potter’s bag of clay. The potter cut the chunk of clay, and said sadly out loud, “Alright. A vase.”
The master’s hands, wet, and agile, slowly began to move the clay; warming it, and softening it’s form. When the vase was complete, the man stood the magnificent vase on the entry table, respectfully honoring the once useful mug.
Day after day the potter had many guests over. The vase would get excited when the knocker would sound, or the doorbell would ring. He would straighten himself up to be praised by any who would notice his brilliance. However, the guests were looking so forward to seeing the man, the potter, that they would enter through the doorway without looking at the vase at all. Hugging, and kissing the potter, every last one of the visitors would be asked to sit down in the kitchen, and would be poured a cup of coffee. They would each be given a beautiful mug. How had the vase not noticed how gorgeous the collection of glasses were? How blessed they were to be sitting with the man, useful in every sip from the man’s smiling lips. Hearing every word, studying the man’s face. Being able to sit unashamedly at the master’s table. The vase was sorry he had complained. He now wanted to be back to exactly who he was before he had shattered himself. He wanted to be useful again in the man’s hand. Compliant, and content.
The vase began to cry very softly. The man excused himself from his guests and walked slowly to the vase. With a twinkle in his kind and patient face, the potter gently picked up the vase. Quietly, with a somber expression and a thoughtful face, the man stated, “I made this mug recently.”
Surprised,the man’s friend smirks, “You mean that vase…”
Dropping the vase from his fingertips, the bits of pottery crashing to the floor, “No…no, I created a mug.”
And the man lovingly and gently picked up every last piece, and carrying his creation in his capable hands, set each carefully wrought piece into the bin. To mold and form the broken pieces again.
Romans 9:20 “But indeed, O man, who are you to reply against God? Will the thing formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why have you made me like this?’ Does not the potter have power over the clay…”