The loan officer hands me a pile of documents with yellow post-it arrows indicating where I am to sign. He hands me a pen.
Now I don’t know if this is a thing – or my own unique phobia. But I actually get nervous signing my name when others are watching. My signature disintegrates to a wavy line and the pen feels sweaty and slippery in my hand. So staring at the documents before me, I try to make small talk. And that’s when I notice with quiet horror that I have not signed my name, Barclay Marcell – I have signed, Barclay Marclay. It seems my wayward hand automatically went in the clay direction…twice…in ink.
Did the loan officer notice? Should I admit that I don’t know my own last name??? Naturally I scribble over the clay part and turn the page, the next signature dissolving into an indecipherable wave.
Now the truth is I love my first name. And not because it’s different, or because it’s gender-neutral, or because it was my great grandmother’s maiden name. It’s because it reminds me of who I am. A bar of clay in the hands of a potter. This is the metaphor God gave the prophet, Jeremiah, for the Israelites, basically admonishing them to – Stay clay (my interpretation).
In this time of uncertainty, when a cough can spark an aggressive virus, when even family is held at a distance, when you try to smile with your eyes at a Walgreens checkout, breathing your own breath through a scratchy mask, when you control so LITTLE, it is helpful to remember our clay-ness. When we surrender to God, we can walk through uncertain times with confidence. Not in our own enough-ness, but in the perfect hold of the Potter, whose resume is indeed impressive.
He is the Potter. We are clay.
He is the Shepherd. We are sheep.
He is the Creator. We are His creation.
He is our Father. We are His sons and daughters.
He is ENOUGH. We are NOT.
Beautifully written, as always. Love the imagery. Thank you for sharing. I love your name!
So good! Dayenu
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