Rhyme: Potter's Clay Poem by Caryl Ramsdale

When I was a little girl,
Grandma taught me to crochet;
One dozen dark, red roses,
Filled up her basket of clay.

She told me bible stories,
As our needles clicked away;
Sometimes I can hear her voice,
Just like it was yesterday.

When grandma said:
'Potter's hands shape vessels child,
If something goes wrong, they break;
That's when He reworks that piece,
And fixes every mistake.'

Then Grandma said:
'The Lord's hands shape our lives child,
We're vessels made out of clay;
And when things go wrong with us,
He mends us in His own way.'

Now I have a granddaughter,
Her crochet needle is blue;
She knows how to make roses,
And loves bible stories too.

Someday she'll be a grandma,
And share a needle or two;
She'll crochet and tell stories,
Like the ones I told to you.