Finding Center

Several years back I took a pottery class in the nearby town of St. Peter, Minnesota. I've always had a fascination with the craft and had visions of myself as an earthy woman behind a potter's wheel, hands covered in slip as I turned out one artistic creation after the next. I thoroughly enjoyed that class even if my projects turned out less than stellar. It was a creative moment and I've discovered that all creativity pulls me away from worries of the future or regrets of the past and into the present, whether its playing the piano, singing, writing, drawing or making pottery. It is an escape of sorts that demands my full attention and leaves me feeling somehow better. The term "Finding Center" is a potter's term. After you "wedge" the clay--get out all air bubbles and form it into a ball--you literally "throw" it onto the center of your wheel. This isn't a baseball throw, but forceful enough to make the clay stick. Then it's time to get the wheel spinning; as it spins you place your hands around the clay all the while conforming it into a perfect circle. The clay protests every time; it bumps and grinds against your palm, not wanting to give in, and if you don't press hard enough it will win out. Press too hard and the clay will twist in the opposite direction. But once you find center you immediately know it. The clay turns within your grasp with no hesitation, no bumping, no protesting. It is then that you can transform the gray mass into all manner of creations. That's how it is with us. We must find center within God's grasp as he molds us into beautiful works of art. Within that context we can create on our own, because we are like him. Creativity is the way we're meant to be; instead of arguing "I could never do that" we need to say, "What form of creation am I good at?" Handicrafts, gardening, drawing, music, architecture, writing--the list is limitless. That's not to say that there won't be days when your clay is lumpy or filled with air pockets, but at least your hands are still full of slip. Right? Keep chugging on, Traci