I just ran across this sonnet that's been hanging out in my iPad's Notes app since June 5, 2013. I looked at it and read it and pondered it and had NO IDEA where it came from.
But I did know that it needs to be shared with more than just me.
Cannot the clay be crushed while on the wheel,
Canvas be slashed before the paint is dry?
Can't faulty stitch be ripped by knitter's zeal,
Phrase erased which fails to satisfy?
The carver, wise and skilled, has perfect right
To scrap the flawed and twisted piece of wood.
The poet stops his fledgling work mid-flight
Because it isn't singing as it should.
But we, the Potter's marred, unlovely jars,
No masterpieces...He elects to wet
His hands and work us new. God, who names stars
And knows each sparrow, hasn't finished yet...
Till we are fit for our unveiling day,
Our Maker - loving, faithful - shapes our clay.
Truth is...A search for the first line took me to the blog-post source and I was reminded that this was penned by a dear friend, Lauren Nichols. To see the original and some words about its origin, click here.