Beyond The Clay – A Mother’s Song

Tiny clay-stained hands

Give a treasure made with greatest care.

The Treasure becomes a keeper of lost things: 

“What puzzle does this piece belong to?”

“What is this key I found used for?”

The Treasure decorates the countertop.

An integral piece of family culture, 

Collecting what is lost until time finds a place for all the lost things. 

Time passes and tiny hands grow. 

Pieces of our lives get lost in the busyness. 

Yet along the way we collect a moment, a milestone, a memory. 

Pieces that we can’t throw away so we place them

In our own heart-made collection of Treasures. 

Then within a blink those tiny hands are grown, 

And grown-up clay-stained hands give a new Treasure . 

Clay-stained hands patient to blend all the earthen parts,

Artistry healing the memory of jumbled clay:

Laughter shared around a night time table;

Days of exploring in a world of vast amazement;

Words spoken too quickly in adolescence days of angst;

Those words unspoken in parental insecurity. 

Now the new Treasure becomes a keeper of healthy things. 

In its mature beauty the new Treasure

Takes all the gathered pieces of lost days 

And redeems them in the mirror of human imperfection. 

Still the Treasure of childish hands continues to collect the lost pieces. 

Both are the Treasures of a life that is precious 

And a collection of history that blends together our truest Treasure

Called Family.