The Clay Jar and Promises

It’s a simple clay jar.  Red and chipped made to look old.

The jar sits on my counter reminding me.  Singing to me.

My God has plans that I cannot see.

Before I breathed, He was recording adventures.

The same finger that pushed rock away to form His commandments.  It would write His name on my heart of stone.  The hard places made soft with His touch.

It started with Jesus.  The end is heaven.

And yet in the now, there is life.  Life to grasp.  Tears to cry.  Children to love.  Dishes to wash.  A husband to serve.  Groceries to buy.  Words to write.  Life.

It was a day of questions.  A summer day with kids and questions.  I asked, begged God to show me a bigger purpose.

I felt lost in the sea of forgetfulness.  It felt like everyone had forgotten I was a woman with hopes and dreams.  I was just the body in the house giving what they needed.  The waves washed over me joining the salt of my tears.

The verse jumped out at me, “…put them in a clay jar…” Jeremiah 32:14

The people of Israel, taken captive by Babylon, would not return for 70 years.  God told Jeremiah to buy a field, and put the deed in a clay jar.  The field now barren would one day spring to life.  The clay jar held the promise.

Jeremiah questioned God.  Was He somehow making a mistake?

Today the field was worthless, but the Creator knew.  There is tomorrow.  He was already there, and He knew.  He knew His people would come home.  The jar held the promise.

My clay jar cradles promises only the Almighty One can make.  Written on tan paper made to look old.

And today I obey.  My Master invites me to die to all of my hopes and dreams.  And follow.  The path hidden behind minutes that must be lived.

His gentle voice calls me on.  Beyond my self-pity.  To the cross.  The place to find myself.  Wrapped only in Him.

The jar reminds me death leads to life.

He has promised.


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