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SPINNING WHEELS


We are spun round and round by the everyday swirl of life. It feels as if I am a lump of clay spinning on a potter’s wheel. As a matter of fact, I AM. The Master’s touch gently presses in, reshaping me for His envisioned purpose. A poke here and there will bring texture and reveal the masterful skill of the Potter. Why do I resist? My failed attempts at shaping myself should be evidence enough to gladly yield to the Potter’s hands. Have Your own way Lord, I am waiting yielded and still. Mold me, make me after Your will.

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