Shaped by His Hands

Copyright Glen Dawursk, Jr. 6/2/98

As a potter shapes his vessel, so God created me;

He scooped up clay from His new earth and said to “Let There Be.”

He made me unique and special, and breathed in me His life;

He made me pure and holy – free from hatred, sin and strife.

But I fall from His molding table, and smash against the floor;

A shapeless mess of clay with little purpose anymore.

Yet my maker looks upon me and sees me in His light,

He picks me up, remolds me and makes me feel “all right.”

‘Cause I’m my potter’s vessel, made to be His own,

I’m my potter’s vessel, made to take me home;

I’m my potter’s vessel, I’ll shout to all the lands,

That I’m the potter’s vessel being shaped by His own hands.

His fingers push and prod me, and often times it hurts,

My purpose seems so useless; my life seems so cursed;

But through it all He holds me, His touch is assured,

He reforms my splattered pieces, my helplessness is cured.

And when I’m a finished project, His molding is complete;

I will be in Heaven -- praising at His feet;

I will be His pride and joy and perfect once again,

For He will have remade me and forgiven me my sin.

‘Cause I’m my potter’s vessel, made to be His own,

I’m my potter’s vessel, made to take me home;

I’m my potter’s vessel, I’ll shout to all the lands,

That I’m the potter’s vessel being shaped by His own hands.