*I wrote today's post originally on July 30th 2011*
Today as we perused handcrafted items at the Sequim farmers market, I noticed something very unique to pottery. As we looked at pieces in one particular booth, the artist encouraged us to pick up the pieces, remarking "they are meant to be held and touched." It was not the first time we had heard this today- a lady at a previous booth selling pottery had, moments before, told us the exact same thing.
Today as we perused handcrafted items at the Sequim farmers market, I noticed something very unique to pottery. As we looked at pieces in one particular booth, the artist encouraged us to pick up the pieces, remarking "they are meant to be held and touched." It was not the first time we had heard this today- a lady at a previous booth selling pottery had, moments before, told us the exact same thing.
As the potter began to tell us about different pieces he had displayed, I noticed that with each piece and different sets and pieces of the same color, he had a different comment, unique to that piece. The thought came to me-he knows each piece. Each had its own character that made it unique and different from the others. But it wasn't just that he was aware of the product he was selling. He knew them as their maker-his creations.
He picked each piece up carefully and spoke tenderly about it. "These just came out together this week!" he said with a proud smile, as we remarked about their brilliant blue color. "These hold chopsticks, I was poking holes in things this week", as the blue bowls happened to be berry bowls and the latter had holes to rest chopsticks in.
As my mother mentioned wanting to take a pottery class, Marla echoed her sentiments recalling pottery she had done in high school and the art and skill it took. The potter continued to speak fondly of what he loved about creating each piece. He carefully picked up one last bowl as we were about to leave and with the most inviting gesture handed it to Marla. "Hold this one," he said. Marla noted how light it was with amazement at it's perfectly tapered and evenly thin sides. As he described to her how sturdy it was and how it had been formed and hand tapered I noticed the soft ridges. Ridges formed by his own hands carefully and purposefully. He had created this bowl. He was not only it's maker but he had touched it with his own two hands leaving marks and ridges on it's surface specific only to his own handprints. He spoke tenderly of each one's uniqueness and he was attached to them, for they were his creation.
As my mother mentioned wanting to take a pottery class, Marla echoed her sentiments recalling pottery she had done in high school and the art and skill it took. The potter continued to speak fondly of what he loved about creating each piece. He carefully picked up one last bowl as we were about to leave and with the most inviting gesture handed it to Marla. "Hold this one," he said. Marla noted how light it was with amazement at it's perfectly tapered and evenly thin sides. As he described to her how sturdy it was and how it had been formed and hand tapered I noticed the soft ridges. Ridges formed by his own hands carefully and purposefully. He had created this bowl. He was not only it's maker but he had touched it with his own two hands leaving marks and ridges on it's surface specific only to his own handprints. He spoke tenderly of each one's uniqueness and he was attached to them, for they were his creation.
As we left his booth I thought of the illustration of the potter’s wheel and it clicked. God has and is molding me, he holds me tenderly and with great care. He speaks of me fondly to His father of my characteristics for He knows each one. He formed me with His own hands, I am His creation and He is attached to me. His marks are on me-impressions from His own hands. Not only that but He created me with a purpose, to be used by Him, to hold something of His choosing at His desired time...
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