Made Over in the Potter's Hands

Wounded and abused

I have been so misused

A broken vessel unable to hold water

My situation was no one's fault

I had no else to blame

for my loneliness and shame

All of the trials and all of the tests

I waddled around in all of the mess.

The lengths, breadths, and depths of your love

Wrapped me tight, so I could resume the fight.

They counted me a wash, they assumed I was lost.

Guilt had its grip, but the Lord Jesus made

The trip

He ascended, but first descended into a low pit.

They set up a snare, but you see I wasn't a tare.

By his blood I was free, by his Spirit made thoroughly clean.

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