My Lord! I suddenly feel like I am sitting before a Fire called Wisdom! I sit here,
Father, basking in the Warmth of Your Love. Being warmed by You. Illumined by You! You are
a Fire Which rises up from its very Self. And like every fire I have ever sat before, I am
mesmerized by Your Ways. Yet unlike any fire before, I long to be consumed by You. I shall
enter You, my Lord, and emerge unscathed. I shall be filled by You, my Lord. And I do
this, my Lord, because You invite me. Draw me, O Lord, even deeper into You. Amen!!
Consume me. Let there be only You, O Lord, my God. Amen!!
Daughter, write these words for Me. (Yes, Lord God Almighty!!)
Sweet children, hear Me. I am your Father, and as such, I speak to you now. I have
gathered you here, into this hearing. Yes. And you have come. I have gathered you as
nations. Yet, you are ONE. You are Mine! My children. All. Each. Every. One. Mine. I see
no separation, yet you do. And why? Because you do not look upon one another with the Eyes
of God Which is Love. True Love. Love of God. Love of Neighbor. Love of self in God and
back to one another. I have called. You have followed. And so, here you are now: standing
before Me. O! How different you are as judged by the marks you place upon one another. By
the marks you have chosen to define you as ‘self’. Yet not, perhaps, the marks I
would choose for you to bear.
I do, I speak now of unity. As you now come to Me, I see a speckled assortment of you.
And I accept all of who you are. Despite your deliberate attempt to avoid the unity I so
desire. For, I would melt you and mold you here within the Palm of My Very Hand. O nation!
I would make of you the finest pot into which I would pour My Very Self. How I long to
share My Ways with You. But, how few accept Me. I am the Potter and you are the clay.
Recall this fact.
(Father! So often now, do I begin to see words that I use are used by You. And Your
Words become my own. Father, preserve me in Your Holy Truth.)
Daughter, record it.
Yes, Father. I ‘see’ a pot—pottery—like a vase. A beautiful,
deep green in color and it is tall and sturdy, yet delicate. And it seems to have little
‘ripples’ running horizontally up and down itself. And etched—no, a part of
it—streaked down within it—a part of its now-shining-fired finish—is a
beautiful marking of gold. The design is like that found in marble. But, Father, the
marking is most assuredly—gold. I can see its shine! How ordinary is the pot. Yet
beautiful, as well. O Father, before and now again, I can see You looking at me, as if You
are peering over eyeglasses at me. Father. I love how You look upon me!
Daughter, Sarah, be not proud. Be humble. For the gold in this pot is you.
O Father, I have struggled in this writing. But Father—gold is Your Creation.
And I can see the jagged way it has entered the clay. Its pattern has not come easily,
Father. Yet, thank You Father, for accepting those jagged times in my life. For still
making me part of Your Holy Pattern. (and now Abba continues...)
So many pots do I have. So many do I love. Yet, the product must be worked with My
Hands. The willingness to be molded.
Yes, child. We shall title this work: "I am the Potter and you are the clay".
For now I invite each one who has read and reads: melt yourself in the Fire of My Love.
That you might better come and follow Me. That you might better give yourself to Me. That
I might better use you.
And so yes, I have spoken of unity. Children: let it be My Creation. I am the Potter
and you are the clay. Trust that I might arrange you. That I might mold you. Even that I
might fire you in the Very Fire of My Own Love. Would a Father do less for His child? This
Perfect Father loves you, child, absolutely. Perfectly. Wholly. Come, be Mine. Again and
again. Be Mine. Yes. Amen.
(Amen, Father. Amen. I love You, Abba. Amen.) +
(HEB.4:12-16; PS.19:8-10,15; MK.2:13-17)
With Love, in the Hearts of Jesus and Mary,
His Sarah