He picked up the pieces of my beautiful pot. Made in heaven for His glory. Only for Him.
It was picked up, by others, but disregarded and tossed. It fell to the floor. All shattered, and lost.
But the master saw it. He loved it and taking my shame and my sorrow, He carefully bowed and picked up my pieces, all the bits that were lost. He mended me. Loved me. He made me quite whole. Not a crack can be seen from the break or the fall. Just a fresh beautiful pot to adorn the palace of my King. Made for purpose. Made for Him.
I shall pour out my love to Him, and all that was lost, shall be given again as a gift to my King. All for His glory. All for Him.