Still Worthy

My God, you are the artist,

The Sculptor who fashioned me

One long-ago day,

And loves me somehow

Despite my fissures and flaws

In clay that is often brittle

In several worn places now.

Noticing your thumbprint

Pressed into my flesh, 

You reminisce how lovingly you formed me

When the clay was softer.

Knowing how you shaped me,

You remember pressing your print

Into that very spot,

Your signature saying,

“I made this and am pleased with my work.”

Still seeing my beauty

Despite chips and faded colors,

You place within me

Fruit

...crisp and fresh.

Your warm palms

Cradle my cold exterior,

Lifting

and placing me on the Table,

Still worthy

of refreshing others 

with sweetness.

by Heather J. Willis, author

"If you keep yourself pure, you will be a special utensil for honorable use. Your life will be clean, and you will be ready for the Master to use you for every good work." ~2 Timothy 2:21