Fine China


With just dust and a rib, I was created
My Lord molded me, and it was personal
Every flaw, intentional
Every gift, purposeful
You look at me and all my negative you may want to mention
Yet and still my soul is the Lord’s, He holds all retention
The walk isn’t easy, but I will be finished to completion
A lump of clay going through the fires
I’m letting Him do as He desires
Going through the furnace
It’s nothing minor
On the other end I will be uniquely painted in spiritual gifts
Glory to the Lord making this divine shift
You are really looking at fine china
I count it joy to be touched by The Potter’s hand
With faith of a mustard seed I will make it to the Promise Land

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