Clay Jars and Torn Gift-Wrap

One of the things I loved to do when my children were all at home with me was to purposely make memories. So you can imagine how excited I was when my oldest daughter, Faith, was getting ready to leave home and told me that she wanted to make a special memory with her siblings.

Faith had invited her brother and sisters to join her in what she had learned when she had gone with her dad to a folk art school. She took them to the lake on the farm and there they dug up good old Georgia red clay. Next, she showed them how to make jars from the clay. Then she built a wood fire kiln like she had done at a folk art school. All night they kept vigil watching the clay be fired.To be honest, I don't know what happened to the the red Georgia clay jars, but I'm quite sure the memories they made that night with dirt under their fingernails watching the fire blaze are in a very safe place.

I've been thinking a lot lately about clay jars. Last week so many special people died. I was so very frustrated! I wanted to go to the funerals, but my own clay jar wouldn't let me. I wanted to put my arms around the brother who lost his sister. I wanted to weep with the brothers as they grieved the loss of their younger brother. But again the treasure I desperately wanted to share with them was in a broken clay jar. So I cried at home for them and prayed that the God of all comfort would wrap them in His loving arms.

We are told in 2 Corinthians that we have the light of the glory of Jesus Christ in a clay jar. Why? So that the extraordinary power of God's glory would be seen not coming from us but from Him. And what happens down here to my clay pot? It is under severe pressure every day, but it's not crushed. Sometimes I just get so confused, and yet I am not in despair. Sometimes I feel mistreated, but I know that I am never abandoned. Recovering from brain surgery has made me at times feel like I've been struck down, but I am not destroyed! My deepest prayer is that Christ would be seen through the cracks of this somewhat broken clay jar.

Today I was visited by three adorable children. They walked into my home and brought with them sunshine. They had been prepared for how I would look. But children have no guile; they are simply honest. So it was with these precious little ones. So I decided to make a memory with them. I showed them the ninety-two year old Wanda B. Goins saying the poem she wrote, The Gift-Wrap & The Jewel. I used this opportunity to share with them that the treasure in clay jars is just like a jewel wrapped in gift wrap.