Mindful of me
The Chief Potter picked up the clay. He rested it in his palm, imprinting the clay on it. He smiled with approval. “Before you were formed in your mother’s womb, I loved you and made you for a day like this, for this age and the next.”
He took the piece and formed me, placing me upon the earth. I grew up tough and hardened inside and out as I traversed the world, mingling with dust and rocks.
Chief Potter picked me up again and moulded me. He pressed me to a board, remoulded, looked at it, and broke it up again. Then, he rolled me in his palms, following a rhythm.
Ha! I yawned, squirmed, murmured and cried. “You’re taking too long, sir.”
The Chief Potter worked in silence.
Shaped!
Formed!
Marred!
He mixed the clay with water, making a fine lump.
His large hands massaged it so gently.
He shaped, shaped and shaped.
He stretched the lump, stretched, stretched, stretched and massaged it.
“Why’s he wasting time?”
Softening my head and heart, Chief carved me into a masterpiece. “Daughter, you are my handiwork created in Christ to do good works.”
He put me on the path of life with his signet ring on my finger, a sword upon my thigh and in my mouth, a ring in my ear and garments for different occasions.
“Go in my might. Stay on the path.”
(c) 2025 Enobong O’wunmi.
