The Potter


I love Old Sturbridge Village. It’s my happy place. It’s quiet, it’s serene, it’s beautiful in it’s simplicity. We go there a lot. I want to live there some day.


And I’ve decided that this is our new home.

If I lived here, I could walk to the school, the church & the general store. My food would be fresh because I would grow it myself. SPD would not exist, because my strapping boy would be engaged in hours of physical labor. I would eat pie for breakfast (true fact). Earl wonders how a jazz musician fits into my image of a perfect world….simple. He could become a church organist and make horseshoes to supplement his income.

The potter is one of my favorite people to visit. When I watch the potter working with clay, I often think back to what a mess I was this time last year…drowning in my own disappointment. (Dealing with Disappointment)

Here’s me. A broken jumbled mess & not very useful.


Here’s the potter. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s there.


He roughs up the clay to get all of the air pockets out. He slaps the clay on the wheel. He centers it. It doesn’t look like very much yet.


He opens up the pot and thins the walls. (Now it’s starting to look like something!). He adds finishing touches. And finally, he puts it through the kiln. All of this takes time.


Sometimes it doesn’t feel very good to be the clay. We get beat up a lot. Sometimes we have to go through the fire. This is essential, it makes us stronger.


And at the end of the process, we become useful vessels.

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Act. Love. Walk.

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