A Funny Thing Happened On The Way

 

Approx 620 words

 

©2004 by Paschal Ryan

 

 

 

It was the annual Harvest Festival in Pahrump and Kitson was left minding the stand that the Guild had set up to sell their books, while Nancy, Gerry, and Robin, went looking at the other stands.

They stopped at an Arts & Crafts stand where some antiques were for sale. Spotting an exceptional tea-cup, they asked:

“May we see that?”

(Nancy, Gerry, Robin, you are now that tea-cup)

You said:

“I don’t understand. I have not always been a tea-cup. There was a time when I was a lump of red clay. My Master took me and rolled me and pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out, ‘Don’t do that. I don’t like it. Let me alone.’”

But my Master smiled, and said:

“Not yet.”

Then, WHAM! My Master placed me on a spinning wheel and spun me around and around.

“Stop it. I’m getting so dizzy. I’m going to get sick,” I screamed.

But the Master only nodded, and said, quietly:

“Not yet.”

Your Master spun you and poked you and prodded you out of shape to suit himself, then he put you in the oven.

“Help me get out of here!” you yelled.

You could see him through a crack in the door opening. You could read his lips as he shook his head from side to side, saying:

“Not yet.”

When you thought you couldn’t bear it another minute, the door opened. Your Master carefully took you out and put you on a shelf, where you cooled off.

“Oh, that felt good,” you thought.

But after you cooled off your Master picked you up and brushed you off and painted you all over. The fumes were so horrible you thought you would gag.

“Oh, please, stop it,” you cried.

Your Master only shook his head and said:

“Not yet.”

Suddenly, he put you back in the oven. Only, it was not like the first one. It was twice as hot and you knew you would suffocate in there.

You begged. You pleaded. You screamed. You cried. You were convinced you would never make it. You were ready to give up.

Just then, the oven door opened. Your Master took you out again and placed you back on the shelf, where you cooled, and waited and waited, and wondered what your Master was going to do with you next.

An hour later, your Master handed you a mirror and said:

“Look at yourself.”

And you did, and you said:

“That’s not me. That couldn’t be me. It’s beautiful. I’m beautiful.”

Quietly, your Master spoke.

“I want you to remember; I know it hurt to be rolled and patted and pounded, but had I left you alone, you would have dried up.

“I know I made you dizzy by spinning you around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled.

“I know it hurt and was hot in the oven, but if I hadn’t put you in there, you would have cracked.

“Now you are what I had in mind when I first began with you.  You see, I am your potter, and you are my clay. I have molded you and made you flawless enough to make you overcome all pressures. Now my work is done, and I am pleased.

“So, Nancy, Gerry, and Robin, when life seems so hard and you are being pounded and patted and pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; when life seems to “stink”, brew yourselves your favorite cup of tea in your prettiest tea-cup, then sit down, and have a chat with the Potter.”