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GRACE FOR THE KILN

On my very first trip into the USSR many years ago I was surprised to find a bright little store in an otherwise drab and grey town. We were guided to a back-alley by a taxi driver who behaved as if he were revealing a State secret. The small shop had beautiful porcelain pottery. I bought several pieces and carefully packed them for my trip home. Upon arrival I opened my suitcase and found all but one piece broken; they had not been sufficiently heated in the kiln. I do not like going through the furnace of affliction, yet it is the the fire that strengthens me for what is next. Father, You are the Potter, I am the clay. Grant me grace for the kiln that I may have fortitude for the journey.

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