Equipped now for battle, prepared for the fight, the warrior stands ready, poised and girded he takes the proper stance, yet heels dug in will profit him nothing if his heart does not lead. The battle must first be fought from the inside, lest in the midst of the struggle his feet take flight.
My body is comprised of a hand-picked assortment and filled with unique individuals, each held with the aim that not a single one, in the natural, resembles another. For I do not desire an army of duplicates (all looking the same), but of one which bears the reflection of My Son. He is accepting of anyone who calls upon His name and offers no refusals due to appearance regardless of age, race, or gender (this is simply not an issue whichever concerns Him). Because His heart is held in the steady, constant place of perfect love, it will not diminish no matter the look of another, for He himself was not someone who, on the exterior, affected curiosity, nor was his form something which drew much attention.
A clay pot is shaped and refined by the Potter’s hand, set upon the wheel He spins. His movements gently guiding the clay into the formation He thinks best suits this container. For each is created with a particular use in mind, the design He had imagined from its original inception, the point when He brought all things to be. So as He sets about His work there is a smoothing effect which happens with all of the rough areas being honed, giving a polished look to the exterior making it appear to be flawless, for the mixture of motion and water have been able to cover every imperfection.
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