We moved to Livingston parish in 2004. We built a new house, and I wanted to plant some saplings. I got the shovel out to start digging and jumped on that shovel for about 5 minutes but didn’t move more than a half-inch of dirt. I needed a pickaxe. The ground was nothing but clay; it seemed hard as a rock.
And if you don’t have any grass on that clay and a Louisiana rain comes along, you have a slippery mess. It sticks to your shoes, and you can hardly pick up your feet either because of the weight or because they are stuck. I don’t like clay; I do like pottery. I find pottery and wood accents make a home comfortable and welcoming, like a fireplace in the winter.
God told Jeremiah to go to the potter’s house. I’m not sure where it was. “Arise, and go down to the potter’s house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.” (Jeremiah 18:2)
If we want to hear His Word, it will behoove us to humble ourselves. As the potter made his vessel, it was marred, so he made it again. I don’t know if the clay had hard spots, perhaps rocks or trash. These things would have to be worked out of the clay to be a vessel pleasing to the potter.
Do you feel like you are going round in circles on the potter’s wheel? Could there possibly be some debris in your life? Perhaps there are a few rough spots to be smoothed out.
“…cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the LORD. Behold, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are ye in mine hand…” (Jeremiah 3:6)
If the potter couldn’t work with the clay, it was cast into the potter’s field. Judas sold out the Lord for 30 pieces of silver. When he saw Jesus was condemned, he no longer desired the silver (fame, glory, power, influence) and tried to give it back.
“And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful for to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood. And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter’s field, to bury strangers in. Wherefore that field was called, The field of blood, unto this day.” (Matthew 27:6-8)
I’m concerned; I want to go to the potter house. Put me on the wheel, apply the pressure, and put me out to dry, close to the fire, until I am cured. Just please don’t throw me in the potter’s field.