Regarding Spin
Yes, I’m in stuttering health, creatively stalled, and a stranger to my former equilibrium.
Shall I blame ongoing writer’s block?
The pressing needs of loved ones in crisis?
A cherished pet’s decline?
Or, today’s news?
The silent ballot, awaiting my mark?
So many ways to spin it.
Is there such a thing as vertigo of the soul?
If this notion arrests you,
join me in imagining yourself
CLAY, ruthlessly wedged,
kneaded, those oh-so-persuasive
hands of the Potter
pinpointing your wayward grit,
and my hidden bubbles of air,
every last, extraneous gasp
p-r-e-s-s-e-d out, until
we are dense, compressed.
Warmed, and waiting.
Quieted. Secretive.
For here’s the geological truth: clay
stores up forgotten light
(so many small deaths, over time,
enriching the soil).
There’s only one way
to get clay on the wheel. Splat!
Kickstart and rotation ensue.
There is wobble and slippage,
exertion and whirl.
Discarded sludge.
And all the while, God’s muddied
palms enclose and imprint us,
with seemingly merciless thumbs.
Yet notice one wrenching,
centrifugal truth:
out-of kilter
clay, by its nature, wants
to fly off the wheel.
Ask any potter. Clay has a mind of its own.
I resist,
muscle my way
toward my own reinvention.
“Oh, good save,” friends say,
as if we can salvage, well,
almost anything.
Here’s another spin:
Today, the word of the LORD comes—
“Like clay in the hand of the potter,
so are you in my hand”—words
echoed by physics:
and we’re talking stillness now,
stillness perfected in motion.
For see how the clay finally rests,
with nary a wobble:
centered,
balanced,
perfectly earthed.
Adios, ego.
Hello, promise.
Dear Shaper of Clay,
temper today’s pressures and
questions and dizzy thrum.
May grace evoke nothing
less than
surrender, as the wheel spins.
Friends, your prayers for our daughter’s surgery and subsequent recovery were wonderfully answered. Thank you, again!
Photo: Quino Al on Unsplash
Theses lines, especially ” God’s muddled palms”…. really resonated. Such a rich picture of, number one, how much God cares. And number two, how he’s willing to get dirty with us.
No standoffish God is he.
Thank you Laurie.
Jody, your attention to that phrase grabs my attention all over again, and your conclusions, stated as they are, bless me a-fresh as this new day begins, thank you.
Wow what splendid pictures were created in my mind as I read your heart. Clay is a tricky thing on that wheel. I too love to throw and watching that video reminds me of my life.. ups and downs, rain, drought, then hopefully one day a masterpiece made by the Master Potter! Love your stories Laurie.. music to my soul. Thank you and Praying for your good health to return!!!
Susie, I propose a toast to each eventual masterpiece!
I keep re-reading your first sentence and marveling over all that is held in those words. To quietly read another’s heart (with all the emerging images that entails—perhaps a little like watching film developing in a tray?), strikes me as daring and worthy way to live. A decision. And a gift.
Thank you, thank you for your prayers!
I’m joining in on the chorus of those who thought about you and experienced a “Laurie-craving” just days before you actually posted. I thought about you with grace though, knowing life’s just hard at times. I understand how you could feel creatively stalled. Who wouldn’t when physical and mental equilibrium is challenged and changed to the degree yours has been? It’s a gift to you, I’m sure, when words do come. I know it’s a gift for many who read them.
What a treasured truth to remember that we’re in the Potter’s Hands even when we want to fly off His wheel. The portion about clay storing up forgotten light flings desire into my mind to ponder that thought for a while.
Thank you, Laurie. I will pray the Lord gives you His velvet touch of grace and peace each day as you take care of you and your loved ones.
Carol, your compassion and understanding is a healing gift. As is knowing you were looking forward to another post!
I am especially grateful for the word “velvet” in your prayer. Perfect-o. I’ve got a monster head/chest cold, and the ole schnozzola and lungs will welcome that divine TLC. Thank you, friend.
ps As you ponder clay storing light, I would love to hear what unfolds for you . . .
Some turners, however, turn on the horizontal – a different perspective, at least, and no dirty hands is an added bonus
And what I say is: Here’s to every bonus that comes our way!
And to appreciating the differences you mention. Be it wood, or clay, or a life, appreciating another angle, the chance to be here at all, learning to move with the process, rest in it, too, with its variable demands and momentum.
I need to visit your website again . . .
Love your writing Laurie.
Glad things went well for your daughter and her recovery.
Your words resonate with all of us these days ( golden years ) I have to laugh at the idea, they seem less than golden at times…Hope eternal the path is there ,we follow and like the clay life takes shape .
Thank you again for the eloquent reminder ..
Stay well , keep spinning.
Larry, I know what you mean: “golden” does seem an ironic tag for this passage of life.
Thanks for your concern for our girl. It’s good to see her wading back into life. “Hope eternal.” You nailed it. Thanks for being part of our story through friendship and prayer.
Awwww, a breath of fresh air, in the midst of my own spinning! I am going to tack this blog entry on the wall above my potter’s wheel… (if I ever get out there, again…) ? (I will, I will… there’s always hope… the machines are spinning once again in my hubby’s workshop and I am jumping in there to help get our finances back in balance.) Lumpy, lumpy clay needs a good THUMP! Adios, ego. Lol! Adios grand plans for one’s self. Adios, for now, dear amiga, with your enigmatic words (at once bringing joy and deep questioning). Bon voyage on your journeys, until we meet again.xxo
I am picturing your studio, those whimsical sculptures and other marvels-in-progress I saw when you led me through your space.
Pacia, I pray you’ll be opening that door again soon, on a daily basis. You are one amazing partner, loyal, resourceful, visionary. Hard-working, too. Lucky the man who shares ongoing life and work and the great outdoors with you.
When I first started on the wheel (back in college days!), I was startled by all the sinewy verbs involved: the necessary thumps. The tossing and shoving. Brisk, alternating slaps against each ungainly lump before me. So much force exerted, at times! I remember many a fail. I did better with hand-built projects. But those early attempts sure help me appreciate beautifully made vessels now.
Thank you Laurie, thank you.
Love from Tanzania?
Dear Jenell, you are so welcome. I’ve had Dylan and Solomon dueting in my head this week: “To everything turn, turn, turn . . .”
Wishing you manifest hourly grace amid the wilds, dear one
Beautiful, Laurie. Thank you.
Linda Jo, always a pleasure to think of you reading my posts.
Any news on the book proposal? I’m praying some fine publisher’s resounding “YES” coincides with Easter . . .
Oh to be that clay that comes to rest–centered and balanced. Thank you, Laurie, for another lovely word picture, whetting our appetite for the the life of grace found in Jesus.
Nancy, I like the word “rest-centered,” and the fact that we “come” to it. Lots to muse over. You’ve offered me an adjective I’d like to climb inside, even embody on a daily basis. I’d say hourly, but I know myself too well.
BTW: did the post reach your inbox this time?
Wishing rest-centered blessings on you and Steve today. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts.
Laurie, I was literally having “Laurie cravings” yesterday, wondering where you were, and here you are, delivered straight to my inbox. thank you, Lord. I love all you write and how you spin it; but of course, you don’t spin anything. You tell truth in all its raw beauty and transparency. I love how God molds your words, always conforming them and you to His image (the Potter’s way). I wrote a blogpost once called “Taking a Random Whirl with God in my Journal.” I’ll send it to you. In it I quote a poem by George MacDonald, which I love and share with you and your readers here:
“But thou art making me, I thank thee, sire.
What thou hast done and doest thou know’st well,
And I will help thee: gently in thy fire
I will lie burning; on thy potter’s-wheel
I will whirl patient, though my brain should reel;
Thy grace shall be enough the grief to quell,
And growing strength perfect through weakness dire.”
Oh the pain of patient stillness, while burning, while spinning. It seems we are out of control, and yet as we lie still, though our brain should reel, then HE has control. He always does, of course, but we make it so difficult when we fight it (at least I fight it).
This is so beautiful, here:
“For here’s the geological truth: clay
stores up forgotten light
(so many small deaths, over time,
enriching the soil).”
I’ve never connected death with clay. It’s seems positively Lenten doesn’t it? I am but clay and dust and to clay and dust shall I return. So many little deaths throughout life, and then the final death, but NOT the FINAL say! The Potter has the last word, indeed, and has stored up Son-light that burst the tomb and will warm the Creation in the new heavens and new earth. And THAT dear Laurie is the light I am too prone *not* to store in my memory. Sun both hardens and melts, and I pray my time on the wheel, warmed by the Potter’s hands, will make this brittle, cracked clay heart of mine malleable.
I am so sorry for your whirling woes, and your daughter’s. I’d not known about her, and I don’t even think I knew you had a daughter. May the Potter cup you both in His strong palms.
Love
Lynn
I did sense the words attuning themselves to Lent. And the weather. I’m glad you sifted that out.
“I will whirl patient, though my brain should reel.”
Canny old bird, that inimitable thinker and maker of tales, George McD. His poem is new to me, thank you. I’ll look forward to reading your essay when time allows you to send it my way.
Thank you so much for your prayers, Lynn, and your unwavering support. May you, too, feel the everlasting arms underneath you and your mother as you care for her.
So grateful for your kind words, and esp. for remembering Fern. Thank you!
A pleasure, my friend.
“Laurie cravings” – exactly.
I had been thinking for this past week as well, “Hey, isn’t Laurie due to send out a blog post soon?”
Gotta say it, Rick, you made my day. Almost every time I publish a post someone unsubscribes. Ouch. But then, I’m also offered another chance to stay on the wheel, say adios to ego and disappointment, choose to return to the essential. Knowing you were watching for a post is a gift. Thank you.
Ugh………ouch…….
Ohhhhhhh……..finally.
As I read your insights, I danced the vivid visuals in my mind. Soon I will dance with my body
A vertigo of the soul.
… From wobble to balance…
From darkness to light… From farewell to promise… A solid settling into the Potter’s hands. Thank you Laurie…
So easy to picture you moving through each of these contrasting stages, friend, choreographing the process visually and kinesthetically. Dancing the glimmers of sterling amid the dross (if you’ll permit the metaphor jump). I am so so glad to hear from you today.
ps In scouting a video clip, I saw some pretty comical centering fails. Wannabe-pots less inclined toward ascension and grace and more akin to Keystone Kops . . .
Thank you.
Wonderful visual.
Lessons of the clay and Potter seem endless.
Praying for you and Kristin daily.
Rick, I know what you mean. I imagine you’ve eloquently mined various aspects over time. Just when I think a metaphor has become predictable, some new facet emerges. Like clay storing up forgotten light, that was a new thought for me.
I am so grateful for those daily prayers! Thank you. I’ll let Kristin know, too.
Blessings on you and yours and the work before you.
❤️❤️❤️
Ahhh. One heart for each set of lines I loved . . . then cut, freed and emboldened by your unerring eye for the spine of things. As ever, thank you.
I Love this , one of those parables we can all relate too. “ painful “
Yes, but don’t stop Lord . Your hands have created such beauty.
Have your way in my Life,
I am yours.
I find myself praying your words as I read them.
Yearning and yielding. Lured onward by wonder’s spontaneous gratitude. Thanks, Mike.