Essie

Sunday evening at 8 p.m. Essie Sorenson passed from this life to the next. She spent the last days of her life at Mayfield Manor, where many years prior she spent her time serving others. Essie was a kind soul who never wanted to trouble anyone.

She had the memory of an elephant, the heart of a lion, and the qualities of Christ in every way. Her small frame did not reach more than the height of 5 feet. Her white hair was always styled and she enjoyed spending her time in the company of family and friends.

My dad called me just today to tell me about her passing. It wasn't a surprise because her heath had been failing for quite some time. The past few weeks she had suffered a series of strokes that caused her health to continually decline. They said it would be her last Christmas, and sure enough it was.

I will forever remember her when I curl up into my favorite blanket. One year, for my birthday I think, she made me this blanket. Lois didn't think it was very pretty. The material reminds me of the 60s. One side is a maroon soft, warm, cotton material; the other side is a mixture of yellow, orange, navy blue and red.

It is the blanket I bury myself in at night to keep warm; the blanket I cuddle up with to watch a movie; and the blanket I enjoy most in my house. The blanket may not be the most modern styled blanket, but I know it was made with love by hands that were worn out in the service of her Maker. When they say it's the thought that counts, this is it.

The things we have in our lives may not be the most visually appealing things, but somewhere in time they were made with hard work, effort, passion, and love. We should be grateful for the things we do have, and less worried about what we don't have. Our lives could be spent in pursuit, but what would we have to show in the end? Things. Or, we could waste our lives in the service of Him who gave us everything we have; what better way to show our gratitude.

So, tonight amidst everything else in my life, I curl up in this blanket that was made with love and remember the woman who has touched me so dearly.

The Potter's Hands

I found this searching for something else. He wrote it more beautifully than I could put it. But I can say that I have thought about this during the last six months as I have ventured into a new world. The thought of creating, building, making beautiful, all from some chunk of dirt and water ...

Working with clay has taught potter Ben Behunin some powerful lessons about growth, repentance, and the importance of placing ourselves …

“O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand” (Isa. 64:8).

All of us at times feel common, or useless, or unattractive. Learn something from simple clay. In its natural state, clay is common and far from beautiful. But in the hands of a master potter, it takes on a pleasing personality, becoming a thing both of usefulness and unique beauty.

But before clay can be made beautiful and useful, it must be centered on the potter’s wheel. As the wheel spins, the potter molds, shapes, and lifts the clay into the desired form. If the clay is not centered, it cannot be shaped properly. Eventually, natural forces fling it from the wheel. Our lives are like that.

We must become centered on Christ—and remain centered on Him. Only then can our Father in Heaven shape and mold our lives to His grand design for us.

Sometimes flaws appear in the clay and repairs must be made. It may be necessary to go back, to remold and reshape. The wonderful thing is, when properly repaired, the flaw is completely gone, as though it had never existed.

When we sin, we introduce flaws and defects. They may not be outwardly visible at first, but they weaken us just the same. And if they are not properly repaired, they can lead to our ultimate ruin. Fortunately, if we are humble and pliable as clay in the Potter’s hands, repentance will make us completely whole.

Clay that has been shaped and molded may become beautiful. And as it dries, it becomes harder. But it never achieves its full potential until it has been through the fire. In the great heat of the potter’s kiln, the clay is transformed.

Hidden flaws that were not repaired reveal themselves at this time, and the piece breaks or crumbles.

But a vessel that has integrity comes from the fire stronger and more beautiful than ever. In life, too, we pass through fiery trials that test our faith and integrity. Then if we have remained centered on Christ, and if through true repentance we have let Him make us whole and sound, taking from us our flaws and mistakes, we come forth from the fire as beautiful, useful vessels in His hands.

Larry A. Hiller, “In the Potter’s Hands,” New Era, Dec 1999, 20

The Answer

I will be the answer
At the end of the line
I will be there for you
While you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty
I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance
If you can't look down

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a
Place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
'Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all burned out
You'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind

~Sarah McLachlan

Invictus

"Invictus" is a short poem by the English poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). It was written in 1875 and first published in 1888 in Henley's Book of Verses, where it was the fourth in a series of poems entitled Life and Death (Echoes). The word is Latin for "unconquered."

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Elder Orson F. Whitney (1835) wrote The Soul's Captain (The Answer) in response to Henley's poem ...

Art thou in truth? Then what of Him
Who bought thee with His blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood,

Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but Him could bear--
That God who died that man might live
And endless glory share.

Of what avail thy vaunted strength
Apart from His vast might?
Pray that His light may pierce the gloom
That thou mayest see aright.

Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree,
Thou, captain of thy soul! Forsooth,
Who gave that place to thee?

Free will is thine- free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto Him
To whom all souls belong.

Bend to the dust that "head unbowed,"
Small part of life's great whole,
And see in Him and Him alone,
The captain of thy soul.