The Potter

The Potter’s fingerprints are on me since my first breath was
Drawn,
He molds me and He grows me,
Shapes me for His sovereign plan
His tender care is faithful e’en when I fail to understand.

Though the fiery storms of life pelt me,
I still tarry in His hand,
For within His kiln I know all dross will vanish
In His plans.

For all the joys, triumphant days, and dreams realized,
For all the sorrows, disappointments, tears in my eyes,
He counted each and every one,
And through it all He knew,
How many hairs upon my head remained--He always knew.

So when my spirit stirs within me and my restless soul is weary,
When I want to shirk the task before me or complain my lot seems dreary,

I remember He who holds me and has pressed me in His palm.
I recall His loving mercy and His grace I called upon,
For the vessel surely cannot, to the Potter say,
“I do not want to fulfill your plans for me today”.

For the Potter’s fingerprints are on me and He shapes me in my place,
And one blessed day in glory I’ll meet my Potter face to face.