How each piece turns out depends on the hands that designed it. The hands give the clay its final shape. That lump of clay cannot dictate what shape it wants to take on. The hand decides. This is a constant reminder to me that God is the Potter; I am the clay. What a humbling lesson in moments of discontent.
I had often been intrigued by pottery, but equally often, dismissed. Never dared imagine I that I could do it. Just not my cup of tea. Too daunting to me. ...or so I thought.
The challenge came as I spent 3 wonderfully therapeutic and dusty years working with clay at the Parents Pottery Club of Dunman Secondary. I am thankful to my instructors, Mr Zul and Mrs Chern and to the Principal, Mrs Edelweis Neo for for her tremendous support.
I never knew dirt could be so therapeutic.
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