They sit in perfectly disarrayed order unused for the moment: bowls with or without legs or pedestal; jars and cups with and without handle; pots, vases, dishes, pitchers. Each is the product of a loved daughter’s hand—testimony to the creativity and artisanship she has thrown, turned, molded, dyed, baked, and shared since childhood. We smile when we see them on our shelf.
I wonder momentarily if we ever use them. I am reminded; I recall: the water pitcher for a study group, a bowl for a centerpiece, and so on. On the shelf, each piece is secure. In use, they are products of clay at a risk unfortunately realized more than once.
On the shelf, Joseph finds favor’s comfort in a coat. When God takes him from the shelf, the coat returns as tattered as his life is forfeit to a pit, servitude, and prison. Job’s shelf time is blessed with uprightness, children, wealth, sacrifice, and prayer. As God puts him to use, he can scrape himself with that life’s shards.
God doubtless smiles to see the shelf. “Have you considered my servant Job, my perfectly thrown and turned jar of faith?” As nice as it looks there—as nice as it feels to be there—God does not make us to be idle vessels. Rather, he would pour, or spill out, our faith in what may be as costly for us as it is useful for him.
Probably the happiest I see that daughter is when she knows how we use—not just display—her pottery.
Whatever the risk to us, this week, may God remove us from display to serve faith, hope, and love to his table’s creation.