And yet, O Lord, you are our Father.
We are the clay, and you are the potter.
We all are formed by your hand.
I am a lump of clay.
Still being pressed and formed.
Stretched and rounded in this life.
My rough edges continuously made smooth.
Focus, care and a gentle touch.
Serene both inside and out.
As I pray tonight...
I ask for more work on this lump of clay.
Photos taken by Tanya Kearns
sweet memories keep me pressing on and continuing my work on this artist holiday,