curved, creamy porcelain: beautiful, functional.
held in hands sodden with imperfections.
inside the stains of what was temporarily, deeply satisfying entrench in permanent residence.
wheels spin as the shell is shined and polished. the inside remains ignored.
a portion of clay hardens and dries out in the great artists hands.
the stale process is wrought with simultaneously reluctant and brazen declarations of war, of independence.
in beautifully crafted timing, the artist saturates the clay with life giving water and begins to painfully and lovingly break, soften and mold.
new every morning.
who am I?
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I belong to Jesus. He created me before the world began with a purpose my mind can't fully understand. He allowed me my first breath roughly 25 years ago, and he's been faithfully pursuing and capturing my heart each day since. This is intended to be a place to flesh through the journey I am on to pursue him.
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