Securely in the Clay

I admit it: I whined this morning. "But I want to be uuusefuuull to God."

Luckily I whined in front of people I really trust to be able to hear the frustration, discouragement, and sadness behind the four-year-old-ish behavior.

(By the way, if you are the sort who never whines, never gets frustrated, never gets sad, never gets discouraged, then I wonder why you are still reading this. I'm sure I never met you, you troll!)

So, I whined. I let it all hang out. And they cluck, clucked along with me. There is a reason they are my peeps, you know. My Tuesday Morning Posse. And even as they are being all sympathetic, we all know that "being useful" doesn't always look like what we think it will look like.

I remember a song a friend of mine used to sing in worship occasionally. It was a song I wanted to have sung at my ordination/installation, but it didn't work out that way. Maybe next time.

(I blogged this song once before. It's that good.)
FASHIONED IN THE CLAY

Copyright 1983 by Elmer Beals Jr.

Elmer Beal Is from Blue Hill, Maine. He's a farmer, woodcutter, educator and musician, and a maker of fine songs. He's also a member of Maine's favorite acoustic group, ''Different Shoes."

Elmer says he wrote this for his wife, Carole, a potter, inspired by the optimism in her work, at the time it takes between starting the job and seeing the results.

When it seems that everyone is worried for themselves,

Buying plans for fallout shelters, stocking up the shelves,

Living in the fast lane, and staying high at night,

Thinking that by accident we'll blow out all the lights;

Look, now, at the potter whose wheel is spinning 'round,

Shaping with her hands the past and future from the ground:

Cups that will be filled and drunk, so warm in wintertime,

Plates and bowls for dinner served with candlelight and wine:



She believes, she believes,

By her work it's so easy to see

That the future is more than the following day,

It's fashioned securely in the clay.



Look now at the farmer working in his field,

Hoping that the sun and rain will guarantee his yield.

Like the seed the wind has blown to unfamiliar ground,

He waits to see what fate will bring as each year rolls around.


He believes...


Elsewhere, there are lovers in a warm embrace,

Happy with their plans to carry on the human race.

Now the baby cries and wonders if it's all alone;

Softly, voices reassure: there'll always be a home.


They believe...


So, if you had been worried that tomorrow wouldn't come,

Look to see the ones whose lives are following the sun.

And the hope that springs so clearly from the work they do

Will spread a little further when it finds a place in you.



We believe, we believe,

By our work it's so easy to see

That the future is more than the following day,

It's fashioned securely in the clay.

Humming this song always makes me feel better. I do believe that I am called to "plant trees, the shade of which I may never enjoy" as the saying goes.

But today the clay feels as if it is my own fragile feet. I feel the anxiety nearly swallowing me up. Were the cave not truly, really empty, I think I would be about ready to pack it in.

I think I'll hum the song about ten more times now...