A Cry from Clay to Potter

Soften my heart, father.
Clothe me in your armor.
I want your living water.
The clay cries to the potter: break me.

Pry my fingers open
Let my hands be broken
The promises you’ve spoken
Grow sweeter, still.
I’m rowing up the river
To steal gifts from my Giver
I need you to deliver
that bitter pill.

You made the great exchange
Somehow, I feel short-changed
I lust after the taste
of the forbidden fruit.

Pluck it from my hands. I can’t fulfill the law’s demands! I’m a dead and drifting branch unless your grace takes root.