The Potter’s Road Episode 10 – The Breath of the Potter

 

The Potter’s Road

Episode 10 – The Breath of the Potter

“The Potter’s hand shapes the form, but His breath gives it life.”

The morning after the silent night felt strangely alive. A soft breeze passed through the open window of the workshop, stirring the clay dust into gentle spirals of light. Amos stood at the wheel, his hands steady, his eyes bright.

“Today,” he said, smiling faintly, “we begin again.”

Damilare joined him, quieter than usual. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore — it was holy. Together, they worked in rhythm: Amos shaping, Damilare watching, learning, and adjusting.

By midday, a series of new pots lined the shelves — simple, unglazed, but perfectly balanced. As Amos leaned to inspect the last one, he suddenly paused, his breath hitching.

“Baba?” Damilare asked.

Amos clutched his chest for a moment, then steadied himself against the table. “Just a little wind,” he said softly, forcing a smile. But his hands trembled again — not from age, but weakness.

Ruth hurried in, concern etched on her face. “Amos, you need rest.”

He nodded, yet his eyes lingered on the clay. “Not yet. The Potter breathes before He rests.”

That evening, as the sun painted the room in gold, Amos sat by the kiln, holding one of the freshly shaped pots. “You see this one, Damilare?” he said, voice thin but firm. “It’s almost ready — but not yet alive.”

“What do you mean, Baba?”

Amos took a deep breath. “Every pot must receive the Potter’s breath — that final touch that gives purpose. Without it, it’s only form. With it… it becomes service.”

He looked at his son, eyes moist but joyful. “That’s what God’s been doing with us, my boy — shaping us, then breathing His Spirit.”

As dusk fell, a storm rolled in. Thunder shook the roof, and the power flickered out. The family lit candles and sat together. Amos spoke softly, his voice barely rising above the rain.

“When I am gone,” he said, “don’t look for my hands. Look for His breath in all you do.”

Ruth and Damilare exchanged worried glances, but Amos only smiled — serene, radiant. “The Potter never leaves His wheel,” he whispered. “He just moves to another one.”

That night, as the storm passed, Amos quietly went to his rest — his hands still clay-stained, his heart at peace.

Damilare found him at dawn, the faintest smile on his face. The last pot he’d shaped sat before him, perfect, uncracked, and whole.

Damilare wept, but amid the tears, a strange calm filled the room. The air itself felt alive — as if the Potter’s breath lingered there.

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✨ End of Episode 10 – The Breath of the Potter

📖 Scripture Echo:
“Then the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.” – Genesis 2:7
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the Lord.” – Zechariah 4:6

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