Pottery: Part 1

I guess two part posts are my thing this week!

Remember last year when you read about the desert? I eventually felt led to stop posting about it because God needed me to move out of the heaviness and I couldn't do that while reliving it here each day. But I want to take you back to a piece of it you've not seen before. You need this to understand what I want to tell you tomorrow.

As you may remember, Isaac and I never lived near each other for our entire relationship. So whenever we saw each other, we had to make an effort to meet up somewhere that we knew people we could stay with - or one of us had to find a place to stay (remember my flat iron catching on fire in the hotel?).

Last August, we met for a weekend in his hometown, in an attempt to see if there was any hope for our future. Things went very well for the first half of the weekend. Then something happened. To this day, I don't know what it was. I remember the moment his countenance changed and after moments of heavy silence, he told me he couldn't continue. He was done. Really, really done.

The next morning, while he went to church (and I couldn't go with him) - I spent the morning in my Easter dress, fallen on my face on the cement slab of a shelter house in a nearby park, sobbing and crying out to the Lord. After crying until I nearly made myself sick, I collected myself, walked back to his house, and we had our final conversation. I've written it as I said it to him - so just imagine that you're Isaac.

Back in July, after the debacle that was the fourth and the non-ending of the wilderness, I was praying about you, and God impressed upon my heart that when things were better between us and healed in our relationship, I needed to wash your feet as an act of love and service. (Don't worry. I'm not really going to do that right now.)

When I was packing to come here this weekend, I remembered my piece of pottery and thought about bringing it, but knew this was unlikely to be the right time for such an event. But even after I'd walked out the door, God brought it to my mind and said, "Take it." And I said, "It's not the time." And He said, "Take it anyway." So I did. And I've left it in the trunk all weekend until now.

This morning when I was praying, I asked God why it was so important that I bring this pottery, since clearly it's NOT the time. And He reminded me of this excerpt of Angie Smith's book I've been reading:

"Every one of us is given alabaster jars in our lives. Moments that have been chosen from before there was time, where we will follow the promptings of the Holy Spirit and glorify our Father with our offering…Is it possible that we are chosen to undergo something when all the while the Lord knows that it will be given to Him in sweet surrender?...Maybe you have been called to take care of the gift. Maybe you are guarding it for a day you have yet to see. Maybe you are watching it, reserving it, waiting for the moment the Lord comes and redeems it all….He has not forgotten. He has heard you call. He may wait to come to you…continue to worship the Lord, keeping what He has given you until the moment you are called to give it away. And as the glass shatters all around you and you grow dizzy from the intoxicating smell of pure love, get as close to His feet as you can. And know this. It was always meant to fall from your hands. And He is glorified in the shattering." (From I Will Carry You)

And so I asked God - did You want me to bring the pottery to break it? And He said, "No. I want you to leave it." And so, I am leaving this with you. I love you and want to serve you…but I know you are not ready. But I am going to leave this here with you as an act of love and service to you and to God. You said yesterday you aren't pursuing me like you should. So I will leave here today and do what you've asked. I'll leave you alone to hear God and to heal. And when your heart has healed and you can pursue me, you come for me. You come find me and you bring this pottery and I will wash your feet.

So...I sat there for the longest time thinking "Say something!" And Isaac squeezed my hand and said, "I will put this on my dresser where I can see it every day and remember what you said. And I WILL listen and I will heal."

And I never saw him again.