I Guess You Could Say I'm a Potter

For years now I have wanted to learn how to use a potter's wheel. I have looked into classes, perused through catalogs, and even atempted a couple of phone calls but it wasn't until last night that I actually went to a class and threw a pot. This art form is no joke!

After class, I barely made it back to my apartment as my hands were so cramped up from "centering" the clay that to grip a doorknob became almost impossible. My back spasmed as I laid down to take a breather on the couch. My calf muscles were tight from all the slowing down of the wheel. But the best part is when my friend, Inge, pulled a stomach muscle trying to get her clay to actually stay on the wheel. Throwing pots is equivilent to a full body workout. In the end, there was not much to show for it except a lop-sided, thick-walled speciman that resembledsa cat bowl (I don't have any pets, by the way). But it was all worth it if for nothing else to understand God better as potter.

What a large amount of work God has to put in to mold me. I am sure I was one of those lumps of clay that started way off center. The amount of water, strength, and will God has had to put into my life in order to even beginning to work probably left him (or her) holding his lower back in agony before clicking on the news multiply times. And I wonder how many pots of my life have been made that just don't seem to work quite right. There is too much pressure on one side and out of nowhere the entire mound collapses or the bottom walls are too thin to support the thick top, heavy lip. Or the clay that I am, wanting to be a beautiful pitcher or a large serving plate, is stretched so far and thin that it misses what it actually is created to be which is a simple beggar's bowl. There is so much to consider about the live God is molding in each of us.

At some point, if I work hard enough, I feel confident that I will have mastery over the clay and not the other way around. At that point I expect to know the joy God must feel when we throw up our hands and surrender our lives to him. Finally! Now I can actually start working.

On the Verge

Okay, I've done this before. I mean c'mon, I'm the girl that lived out of her car for two years wandering the country, taking work when it came around, living in community, or on people's couches. But to do it again, now that seems overwhelming. I lost my job last week as a result of this economy and, just like many others, find myself among the ranks of the unemployed. I have never imagined this before, I am a worker-bee for goodness sake. That's what I do, work. Slackers get laid off, right? Not those who put in 70 hour weeks. Apparantly, I am wrong. The further you move up the food chain, the more bucks are put out for you, the less stable your job becomes. So, here I sit, trying to piece it together.

I made a list, or rather had a strategizing session with my husband on recycled paper bags with Sharpies. Now, if that isn't a skill set, what is? We prioritized and came to the conclusion that top priority is to leave LA.

It is not that I haven't had a good time here. The weather has generally been nice except for those few weeks in September/October when the heat is so bad even going for a dip in the pool makes you sweat. The people have been friendly (over and over again, actually). The culture is right at your fingertips, although I can't afford any of it. Which brings me to my point, it is time to say goodbye.

The state government has failed in the worst way, there is no where to work. The fires in the hills outside my home are threatening me as I cough up a lung. And, the strip malls interspersed among outrageously priced real estate has left me needed something more. More than a water shortage, earthquake evacuation plan, and Britney Spears on the nightly news. What I need most is to be able to pay my bills without entertaining the thought of prostitution (just kidding:))

In all seriousness I have decided it is impossible to live here. I have worked hard, made it to the top, and now find myself, a year later right back to the beginning--actually past the beginning as before I at least had an income--and now, I am done. Goodbye LA. It may take me a year to get rid of you , so this is a slow break-up, but its over. I need to move on to someone who understands me a bit better, doesn't stand me up, and is a little more forgiving. I will cherish what you gave me but now I must gain a sense of myself again. Bon vogage!