Clay in His Hands

 Grief. It never ends. It just gets traded in for a newer model.

She tripped over my foot. I wasn't careful how far out into the aisle it was, and when she came running by, she caught my toe and down she went. If I'd had my feet directly in front of me, she wouldn't have fallen. It was an accident, but she's insistent that I intentionally hurt her, even said I pushed her as well... and that I laughed. I heard her tell someone that I'm always doing those things, that I do it to make her look stupid, and that I'm mean and only care about myself... But that isn't true. The only true part, is that she tripped over my foot and fell. I didn't mean for it to happen.

My new pottery class started last week. Last Tuesday I was a little overwhelmed and had trouble just throwing a simple cylinder. Tonight, emotionally overwhelmed with relational complications of the past week, the temptation was strong to skip the class, stay home, and isolate upstairs in my room. I didn't want to go out at all, but honestly, it had little to do with pottery...

Two weeks ago I was feeling confident and self assured, and the past few days I haven't been able to shake the heavy blanket of self doubt and depression. I know that dark clouds will pass in time, as they always do, but I find myself wondering how long it will take to make up the lost progress of the previous months. I've come so far in the journey to healing, and yet I still find each setback frightening, especially when the feeling of loss and dread are so profound. It's a though a pair of giant claws are sunk deep into my flesh and I'm bleeding...

I could have stayed home this evening, but then I remembered the previous times when the things I love so much (children, photography, pottery...) have felt overwhelming, and I knew to stay home would be to let the depression win. So I went. I went to my class even though my heart was heavy, and once again God came through. He took my heavy heart and held me close. It was a good evening, a silly evening of cup handles turned gargoyles and conversations that made us laugh. And I am grateful.

(The faces were a group effort, each one touched by multiple hands as they were transformed from normal handles stuck on the wall, to faces.)