THE ARTISAN

They came from near and far
    . . . They came from far and wide
They came to see the Artisan
    . . . They came to see His prize
His works we're seen in Mansions
    . . . And in lowly tenement halls
In the homes of the rich and 
     famous,
    . . . And in the homes of those 
            who didn't have homes at all.
A master of the clay
    . . . Working it with His hands
He beat it, kneaded it, molded and
     shaped it
    . . . Creating something grand
They say He has a gift
    . . . A sort of midus touch
Breathing life into each creation
    . . . Revealing a diamond in the 
               rough
They gathered at the ready
    . . . To view statues on display
The glories of the Artisan
    . . . The wonders that he made
Visions of grandeur
    . . . Filled their hearts and minds
But they would soon be 
     disappointed
    . . . By what they were about to 
               find
Some we're missing hands
    . . . Some we're missing feet
Some we're lacking faces
    . . . All were incomplete
The last was only a lump of clay
    . . . Still waiting to be worked
Of all they had to see
    . . . Deemed the least in value
               and worth
The people cried, . . .
We came to see perfection
    . . . Beauty on display
All we saw were defects
    . . . And a lonely lump of clay
We have been deceived
    . . . You, sir, are a fraud
You are not the Artisan
    . . . That you would have us 
               believe
The Artisan replied, . . .
You've told me what you've seen
    . . . Now I'll show you what 
               you've missed
Some had strong legs
    . . . To go the extra mile
Some had broad shoulders
    . . . To help bear another's load
Some had arms outreaching
    . . . To take another in
Some had a face mercy
    . . . To give to the suffering
You saw only thorns
    . . . Where roses soon would be
You didn't see the roses
    . . . Because you didn't believe in 
               me
The eye will only see what is
    . . . The heart, what it wants to 
               see
Only through the eye of faith
    . . . Can you truly see a 
               masterpiece
The last you saw was a lump of
clay
    . . . Valued as the least of these
But had you viewed through the 
     eye of faith
    . . . You would have seen my
               next great, masterpiece.
All that I have made
    . . . A work in progress, a creation
But perfection is in the journey
. . . Not the destination
When you think something is 
     perfect
     . . . And there is nothing more to 
                do
I still see what could be better
    . . . I see something to improve
I am the author and the finisher
    . . . Of everything I do
And when I've begun a good work
    . . . I'll always see it through
As you go through this world
    . . . Beholding the wonders I have
               done
Look for the beauty and love
    . . . Poured into each and every 
               one
And when you perceive defects and
     imperfections
    . . . Things incomplete at best
Know, they are just like you
    . . . And remember,
        . . . I'm not finished with you 
                    yet
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Father,
You are the Potter
    . . . I am the clay
Into your hands
    . . . I commend this mess I've 
               made
Mold me and shape me
    . . . Until once again I see
I am not now,
    . . . What I will ultimately be
But at this moment
    . . . I am everything
        . . . You intended me to be
I am the workings of your hand.
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(Isaiah 64:8) (Philippians 1:6)
(Hebrews 11:1) (Hebrews 12:2)
©steve-