The Potter's Wheel

Lord, you are the Potter and I am the clay,
On your potter's wheel I kneel and I lay,
As you apply the pressure to mold - shape,
I don't like the pressure - I want to escape,
You have a picture and purpose in mind,
I can't see it and for relief want to rewind,
Your pressure is good, the shape slowly forms,
Seems obscure as trials seem more like storms,
I confess my rebellion - how I fought to resist,
But you O Potter squeezed and had to persist,
I could only feel the pressure turned into pain,
For my own good you tried hard to explain,
I rebelled and fought against your sculpting hands,
Determined I knew best chasing dreams and plans,
That you did not purpose - you never did consent,
My sculpture marred - broken you had to reinvent,
Today I lay my all on your painful potter's wheel,
Submitting my life, my ministry, and all of my will,
I cry out, "Bring on the chisel," if that's what it takes,
Chipping away all - until my rebellion it breaks,
I climb on your wheel and submit to your design,
My way and my will I relinquish and resign,
You are the Potter and I nothing but your clay,
Lord mold and shape me until you have your way.