“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.
Does a clay pot argue with its maker?
Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,
‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
Does the pot exclaim,
‘How clumsy can you be?’
How terrible it would be if a newborn baby said to its father,
‘Why was I born?’
or if it said to its mother,
‘Why did you make me this way?’”
How critical are we of ourselves? How many times have we thought about our appearance, personality or life and how, if it could just be altered a bit, we’d be satisfied, happier, or comfortable?
I come from a tall family. You probably would have never guessed that due to my sky scraping height (sarcasm). I’m the second oldest cousin out of 6 and I’m the shortest. If you’re in my family you’ll probably turn out to be between 5’9” and 6’. Here’s the thing, I am 5’3 ½” (and don’t forget the ½”). What the heck? I was just telling a friend that I used to be tall! I was a long legged figure skater at 11 years old. Something happened though, and at 16 years old I stopped growing while everyone else kept getting taller! Not bitter, no really, I’m not. But there was a sliver of me for a while that just longed to be tall. Because to me tall looked beautiful, strong, and womanly.
These verses are humbling. “What sorrow awaits those who argue with their creator? Does a clay pot argue with its maker?” Gosh. Guilty, totally guilty. The artist has a vision for his masterpiece, and has thought it out. The parents to the newborn baby pass on their traits, their blood, and their quarks. When we criticize ourselves, we’re truly criticizing our Creator.
It’s an honor. It’s an art. To be you.