Kneaded to Need

 

I may be romantic or charming at times,

I may be distracted by lyrics and rhymes

But these are expressions of what is inside

 

Sometimes I am joyful and playful – alive

And other times mine is a downhearted stride

But these are expressions of what is inside

 

So what is inside that comes out every day?

A loquacious lump of original clay?

 

Its been smashed and reformed by more than one power

First carved from His image, then conformed to another

 

Some of this clay broke off years ago

Carried away under the shoe of a foe

 

Exposed to the wheel, then left out to grow calloused

Never again to fit in with the dough, inner malice

 

So a process began to reshape this poor slob

A stubborn and lumpy excuse for a blob

 

It required an external factor consistent

A potter whose skilled and above all, persistent

 

To kneed imperfections and water the clay

When necessary to smash the hardened parts away

 

The clay, it fought back, resisting correction

And leaped from the spin wheel in search of affection

 

It saw in the mirror a hideous sight

Self-applied wit to morph with determinant might

 

It saw how in sports, there’s a world ruled by titans

How the strongest could lead so he went off to fight and…

 

He won such a bittersweet victory there

The reward for such efforts were temporal and bare

 

So he sought out a romance to find what he needed

Affection was found but unearthed something seeded

 

Dissatisfied by the love that he craved

There was hate deep inside him that made him afraid

 

He looked in the mirror, couldn’t stand what he’d seen

Defiling, festering, sinful, unclean

 

He remembered the potter, the pain, and the wheel

How a help was once offered to break and then heal

 

He turned from the mirror in a last breath of hope

To see one behind him with water and soap

 

To clean off the wounds and the sins and the stains

To change from the inside, and giving new name

 

But the battle still rages, there’s still a resistance

Between the achieved and the ascribed inheritance

 

A prayer was once prayed, “Lord make me Your own…

And I will spend eternity away from Your throne”.

 

It seems fair enough, for justice to live

 For me to both die and give up life to Him

 

The injustice of what is due for all my sins

And what is then offered by the blood of a friend

 

Truth and lies in my mind hold-fast lingering pains

Compulsion to earn any worth to my name

 

Oh the mirror doth beckon but I am no slave

Yes clay, still for now, but I’m being remade

 

Though kneading is painful, I’m free and I’m saved

By my needing, I’m kneaded, so I’ll never say

 

That I’ll do it myself, for my Lord is my friend

He kneads me to need Him, I will to the end