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***This is the eighty-ninth in a
never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice
Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that
specific poem. All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of
this piece.
All images are given copyright
permission by Belinda Bourgeois unless otherwise noted.
#89 Backstory of the
Poem “Clay for the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois
Can
you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment
the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? I
began jotting down a few words here and there at work. When I came home I sat
down with the laptop and wrote it in a matter of several hours.
I must confess that “Clay for the Potter” is my most heartfelt poem. I’ve
written a few through the years, but none puts things into perspective for me
like this one. Little did I know that this poem was the beginning of a
journey….One of great discovery! It began the very moment that I surrendered to
the Potter. It was then that I stood on the Potter’s Wheel to be shaped and
molded into His creation, not mine.
Over the coming days, weeks, and years a
transformation ensued. My true identity was being revealed. The invisible mask
of pretense I had worn for a lifetime was coming off. There were lines and
cracks within the clay you see, but they were each one unique to me. Simply,
they were everyday reminders of the storms, valleys, and circumstances that my
God had brought me through.
I found that in my weakest moments that He was
making me strong. So, to say that I wrote this poem, “Clay for the Potter” in a
matter of hours would be factual, but in all actuality, it took me a life time.
Every climbed mountain….Every deep and lowly valley….Each one was a stepping
stone leading me to The Potter’s Wheel to be clay in the master’s hand.
Where were you when you
started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great
detail. There are certain
memories that are forever etched within your heart. Writing “Clay for the
Potter” (written in 2017) is without doubt one of those memories. I work in the counseling dept.
at a large high school and I remember well my thoughts that day.
My mind was
whirling like a leaf in the wind. Pieces of the poem began to formulate, but
penning them into words would come later. Nothing would’ve made me any happier
than stopping and writing my thoughts on paper, but duty called. Work would
take precedence, at least for the moment. I certainly didn’t linger after work.
I found myself making a bee line towards home and to my place of inspiration. It
is far from eloquent, but instead cozy, rustic, and very simplistic. It’s my
thinking chair….Where my poems and devotions come to life! If only it could
talk. My old chair could expose my soul. It has heard my prayers, caught my
tears, and felt my pain.
The very fibers within the arms and cushion contain my
DNA. They are woven and imbedded within its brown and woolen fabric. I could
find more elaborate places to think and meditate, but there’s just something about
this piece of furniture that’s near and dear to my heart. We have joined
together….Like two trees intertwining. I’ve become a part of it and it has
become a part of me.
What do you want readers
of this poem to take with them? I’m so thankful for the gifting and talents that God has given me. I can
promise you that I don’t take any one of them for granted. I find it to be a
great honor when He plants a word inside of me.
In turn, I strive to plant a
seed in others about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Whether in the form of a
poem or a daily devotion, my desire is to pen it just as it was intended by
God. This particular poem, “Clay for the Potter,” moved me in a profound way.
It opened my eyes to the truth….That we are all His creation! What’s required
on our part is complete surrender. When we relinquish the reigns to God, it’s
then we become the clay. We stand on His wheel to be shaped and molded into a
new creation.
My solemn prayer is that every reader will become that clay for
the Potter – to be worked and kneaded into whatever shape is desired by Him.
Your lines and cracks are unique to you. See, no two will ever be the same. The
scripture says, “We are fearfully and wonderfully made,” so let Him create
within you a masterpiece.
Which part of the poem
was the most emotional for you to write and why? Every word speaks to my heart. It touches me in
ways that words could never eloquently describe. In fact, like I stated earlier
it’s my most heart-felt piece, but one sentence stands out above all others.
It’s the part that says this: “So, examine these places within my clay, and
listen well to what they say.” Hear the wisdom within these words. There’s a
message here within this short and defined sentence. We make mistakes on this
journey called life. I’ve certainly made my fair share.
When I reflect back on
the roads traveled, I simply shake my head in awe and wonder. Many of these
roads were never meant for traveling. Yet, through the love, mercy, and grace
of our heavenly father he made my path straight. Like that old saying says,
“Hind sight is twenty-twenty.” Take heed to your elders. Listen to their
testimonies. There is much wisdom to be gained from their stories. (Right: Copyright attribution and permission granted by Christal Ann Rice Cooper)
We could
save ourselves lots of headaches and heartache if we would just surrender. What
do we have to lose? If heaven and hell are non-existent then we lose nothing,
but if they exist what then? I would rather go through life living for God than
to discover at the end of my journey that heaven and hell are real and I lose
my soul. This is why this sentence in the poem stands out to me above all
others.
Has this poem been
published before? And if so where? “Clay for the Potter” is an unpublished piece of poetry. If it’s God
desire for it to be published I welcome it whole heartedly. If not, my prayer
is that whoever reads it through this blog will be touched in a special way.
CLAY
FOR THE POTTER
Upon
the potter’s wheel I stand,
A
piece of clay in the master’s hand.
Lines
and cracks there may be,
But
without them there,
I
wouldn’t be me.
So,
examine these places within my clay,
And
listen well to what they say.
I’ve
walked in valleys,
And
felt their pain,
Yet,
through each one there was gain.
I’m
still here upon his wheel,
A
piece of clay for him to build.
Shape
me, mold me,
Make
me strong,
Place
inside me a brand new song.
It’s
your holy presence that I seek,
Come
before me,
Make
me meek.
Draw
me in,
Please,
hold me tight,
Never
lose me from your sight.
It’s
you I trust Lord,
With
my whole being.
For
I walk by faith,
And
not by seeing.
So,
upon your wheel I firmly stand,
A
piece of clay in your great hands.
My name is Belinda Stedman Bourgeois and I was born in the small,
rural town of Saint Pauls, North Carolina. In fact, I still currently call it
my home. This was once a thriving mill town, but the textile mills of yesterday
have longed since disappeared. During its peak, most of Saint Paul’s residents
found employment within one of the two plants….My parents included! We were
poor by society’s standards, but wealth can’t be measured by material
things….Or at least not through my eyes! Our family had unity, love, and God in
the center of our home. Call me crazy, but this was wealth. What we possessed
and still possess is priceless.
Life wasn’t easy on the mill hill,
but I wouldn’t change a thing about my childhood. Neighbors were like family.
See, it was commonplace during my generation to visit and fellowship. We
laughed, broke bread together, and lent helping hands. It was simply a
neighborhood of good, hard working people who depended on each other, but most
of all, they depended on God to make it through all life’s challenges.
I experienced Christian values
first-hand. My parents lived what they preached. It was their lifestyle that
shaped and molded my life. My childhood on the mill hill made a lasting
impression as well. I was taught the value of friendship, togetherness, and
making each day count. I’ve made many mistakes along the way, but what was
instilled as a child made a lasting impression then and in the days to come.
Our
roots are not always immediately embraced, but they will eventually come to our
remembrance. It’s like the good book says: (PROVERBS 22:6 KJV) “TRAIN UP A
CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO; AND WHEN HE IS OLD, HE WILL NOT DEPART FROM IT.” (Right: Belinda in elementary school) (And Below: Copyright attribution and permission granted by Christal Ann Rice Cooper)
Marriage took me away from my
little town for some years. I was raised in a Christian home, but I had never
personally accepted Christ into my heart. My role models were no longer before
me. It was now my responsibility to live in a manner taught by my parents, but
I failed miserably. I wasn’t a bad person, but my lifestyle was a far cry from
the morals and values taught by my mother and father. Sometimes it takes the
storms in life for us to find our way home. (Left: Belinda's Bible)
It’s so amazing how God uses
people. He certainly used my mother to make a lasting impact. It was through
her sickness that I drew closer to my heavenly father. I remember the news like
it was yesterday. It was a mass and located on my mother’s right ovary. None of
us could imagine the fourteen-year journey that was about to ensue. Her cancer
was one of the turning points toward my surrender to Christ. She was given a 3
year prognosis, but her fight to live gave us fourteen years with this blessed
and faithful saint. If ever there was a woman of God, it was my mother Shirley
Hill Stedman. (Above Right: Belinda's parents)
She fought like a soldier. Even on
her hardest days, it was us who left encouraged. Momma had the sweetest and
kindest spirit of anyone. Each time the cancer went into remission we praised
God and upon its return we trusted Him. It was through watching her journey and
how she carried herself that impacted my life. I saw such strength and
confidence within this woman. (Left: Belinda's mother Shirley taken the same year she was diagnosed with cancer)
We don’t realize our capabilities
until that pivotal moment. It’s when we face our storms and trials that what we
carry inside comes forth. I saw it within my mother, and discovered it within
myself. It wasn’t something I recognized immediately, but I can reflect upon it
now and see the strength.
Finding yourself as a single parent is hard, but
abandonment makes it even harder. I could describe in great detail every word
and action, but for what purpose? It’s been a process to say the least, but
with God’s help I’ve finally found forgiveness. Let me be the first to say that
I’m imperfect. I made mistakes and still do. I could’ve done some things
differently, but I’ve asked God and him for forgiveness. It’s been quite the
journey, but I’ve grown and matured through every step. There have been many
valleys along the way, but the mountain top is coming. In fact, I find myself
in mid-climb. Me and my son both should be statistics….And not the good ones
mind you! Instead, we have found blessings and favor from God. I haven’t always
lived the Christian life, but I now work diligently toward patterning my life
with God, church, and people who are true spirit-filled believers of Christ.
Writing and journaling has helped
me release my pain. The day He awakened my gifting to bring words to life will
forever be etched inside of my heart. September 14, 2014 was that day. I can
describe it with the greatest of detail. The praise team was singing “Let it
Rain.” I felt something inside directing me to go forward. I remember leaving
my pew and walking toward the altar. God met me there and wisped me away to his
secret place. Nothing mattered except for his presence. It was as if “Holy
Rain” had fallen upon me. It was afterwards that this burning desire to write had
awakened with me. I’ve been writing since this date and sharing God’s word
through devotions and poetry. I’m so thankful for his gifting. I find it to be
a great honor when God speaks to my heart and gives me words to share with the
people around me. (Left:
https://christianmusic.christiandevotional.com.ng/let-it-rain-by-michael-w-smith-free-mp3-download/)
I’ve questioned for many years my
true purpose here. What is it that I was created to do? What is the plan that
God has for my life? I have a heart for broken women. I understand their pain.
After all, I’ve experienced plenty of it myself. I will begin classes soon in
Biblical Studies with a concentration in Christian Counseling. I remember my
pastor asking me this question one day. He said, “Belinda, what is your first
love?” I couldn’t immediately answer his question, but instead I pondered over
his words for days. All of sudden, it was like a lightning bolt had struck me
down. I remembered the one thing that gave me such a feeling of fulfillment. It
was when I spoke to our women’s ministry group. What started as a short
ten-minute devotion changed to a thirty minute motivational speech. I’m still
reminded to this day of its impact….How God purposed my words! Let me be clear.
It’s nothing that I can take credit for.(Above Left: Belinda teaching Bible Study at the women's ministry of her church)
Instead, I thank God for using me and
speaking through me. I was simply a willing vessel. I was clay on the potter’s
wheel to be shaped and molded by him. I’m still that clay in His hands. He’s
constantly working and kneading me into a new creation. He’s creating a
masterpiece. My prayer is that you will allow him to create a masterpiece in
you! Remember, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made” and you are loved by
our heavenly father. (Right: Belinda reading her Bible. Copyright permission granted by Belinda Bourgeois for this CRC Blog Post only)
BACKSTORY OF THE POEM
LINKS
001 December 29, 2017
Margo
Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”
002 January 08, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake
Café”
003 January 12, 2018
Barbara
Crooker’s “Orange”
004 January 22, 2018
Sonia
Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”
005 January 29, 2018
Ellen
Foos’s “Side Yard”
006 February 03, 2018
Susan
Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”
007 February 09, 2018
Leslea
Newman’s “That Night”
008 February 17, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”
009 February 24, 2018
Charles
Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”
010 March 03, 2018
Scott
Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”
011 March 10, 2018
Anya
Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”
012 March 17, 2018
Angela
Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”
013 March 24, 2018
Jan
Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”
014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim
Honjo’s “Colors”
015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn
Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”
016 April 27, 2018
Beth
Copeland’s “Reliquary”
017 May 12, 2018
Marlon
L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”
018 May 25, 2018
Juliet
Cook’s “ARTERIAL DISCOMBOBULATION”
019 June 09, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”
020 June 16, 2018
Charles
Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”
021 July 05, 2018
Marla
Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”
022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s
“Studying Ariel”
023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus
Zombie”
024 July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag
2016”
025 August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only
Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”
026 August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In
the Details”
027 August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen
Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”
028 August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two
Deaths”
029 August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s
“Faces in a Crowd”
030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The
Risking Point”
031 September 24,
2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After
We Drove”
032 October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s
“Astral”
033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have
A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”
034 October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache
Peaches of Heaven”
035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s
“Sobriety”
036 October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The
Second Breakfast”
037 November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s
“Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”
038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s
“Women of the Fields”
039 November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”
040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My
Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”
041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s
“Dog Sitting”
042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s
“Mountain”
043 November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”
044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s
“This poem is too neat”
045 December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo
for our Dead Father-in-Law”
046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in
the Throat”
047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial
Day”
048 December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”
049 December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s
“Anniversary”
O50 December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s “For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in
the Texas Desert, June 2014”
051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of
Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov
052 December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry
053 December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan
054 December 29, 2018
“Aftermath”
by Gene Barry
055 January 2, 2019
“&”
by Larissa Shmailo
056 January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz
057 January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy
058 January 11, 2019
“BLOCKADE”
by Brian Burmeister
059 January 12, 2019
“Lost”
by Clint Margrave
060 January 14, 2019
“Menopause”
by Pat Durmon
061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler
062 January 22, 2019
“Views From the
Driveway”
by Amy Barone
063 January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her
haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky
064 January 30, 2019
“Shiprock”
by Terry Lucas
065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The
University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille
066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn
Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro
067 February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown
068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island,
Early June”
by Christine Potter
069 February 12, 2019
“Singing”
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum
070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke
071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper
072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm
of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh
073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A
Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera
074 February 26, 2019
“Anthem”
by Sandy Coomer
075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell
076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear
077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke
My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall
078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother
at 19”
by John Guzlowski
079 March 10, 2019
“Paddling”
by Chera Hammons Miller
080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water
and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings
081 082
083 March 14, 2019
“Little
Political Sense” “Crossing Kansas with
Jim
Morrison” “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey
Martin-Bowen
084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To
Remember”
by Anna Evans
085 March 19, 2019
“At the
End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey
086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of
Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill
087 March 21, 2019
“Letters
From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman
088 March 26, 2019
“HAT”
by Bob Heman
089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for
the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois
In the book, on the last page, the DMZ is
described in great detail: The truce that
ended the Korean War established the border at the Military Demarcation Line
where the two armies had stopped fighting. On either side of the line, about
one and a quarter miles back, South and North Korea each put up fences. 
They visit the DMZ in the spring, summer,
autumn, and winter to witness the miracles of animal, sea, insect, and plant
life communing with one another and moving freely across the boundary and doing
it all in peaceful harmony even amongst the Korean conflict that continues to
plague North Korea, South Korea, and United States relations to this very day. By the next Spring, Grandfather is discouraged
or tired or too old to climb the stairs to look at the DMZ. 
In 2010 he published When Spring Comes to the DMZ as a part of
the Peace Picture Book Project by illustrators from Korea, China, and Japan.
Since then he has often talked to groups of children and parents about how
individuals can work for peace. He lives in rural Korea with his wife, who is
also a children’s book author, and their children. 
