While stare down, a man walk toward a low table which can spin. In the age of midlife he still looks well-knit and brawny. Year by year that he went through could not be able to scrape a fact that he was a handsome man. The stripe of his face is so firmly with deep niche in eye, tranquil but seems he keep incomprehensible secret. Every wrinkle on his face reveals wisdom of a mature man which full of life experience. Sharply, his eyes look toward stacks wet clay on the spinning table.It is only shapeless wet clay that might meaningless to others. But the man knows very well that in his hands its clay could be anything. Of course it would become something precious.

He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares The Lord.

“Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are…