Unnoticed and very boring. A cold

block of common clay

No vibrance or vigor. A light shade of gray.

Put on the wheel by a great potter

Very gifted with his hands

Strategically moving his fingers, every delicate tip following his commands

As the clay began to form

it developed a mind too

Its personality took shape as

its curves developed & grew

Confidence began to rise as

The potter was almost done,

The clay decided to be independent stepping off the wheel to have some fun

At first, the potter was angry and then concerned for his beloved clay

He tenderly put it back on

the wheel to fix the mess it made

The clay, very heartbroken & hurt made a powerful confession,

‘Getting off the wheel before the appointed time, was a hard but valuable lesson.’

'I’ve lost some shape and wasted time because I could not see

The finished product God had in mind while He molded me.

I almost robbed myself of vibrance because I gave up before the fire

Before the glory, holiness, and majesty; every vessel of honor’s desire

Now I’m a finished product

an elegant crimson vase.

Washed in the Blood of Jesus Christ,

Indestructible under His grace.′

Jamila Jones

The Serving Artist

I feel used, abused

Run down and bruised

My “fellow friends”

They lack compassion

They toss me aside like

I’m not in fashion

Yes, that in accurate

When some have worn me

Like their favorite shirt

Where there are food stains,

Lip gloss, oil, and dirt

Although I am washed,

I can still see

The impression and marks

They left upon me

But then there are

Others who wear me on special occasions

And keep me locked up

For the time it takes a grape

To become a raisin

They only acknowledge my

Friendship when we are alone

They tell me secrets,

I shouldn’t have known

I now carry their “burdens”

but sometimes I don’t mind

being like Atlas who carries the globe

But I am definitely not pleased with

Being the shirt in their wardrobe

Man’s rejection is God’s protection

sometimes, from how you view yourself.

There is nothing worst than self-deception.

A woman viewed the masculinity of men with a wrong perception,

trying to participate in gender conversation without awareness of herself

Man’s rejection is God’s protection

from the tendency to push the button of mass self-destruction,

a weapon that mutilates the mind and engulfs.

There is nothing worst than self-deception,

it is almost impossible to help the individual without an abjection.

Its worst than a cancer eating away at your health.

Man’s rejection is God’s protection,

but you have to let go of pride and take correction.

You read others with precision, but have ignored “You,” a dusty book on your shelf.

There is nothing worst than self-deception.

Wake up! Smell the coffee and look at your reflection,

you are only hurting yourself.

Man’s rejection is God’s protection.

There is nothing worst than self-deception

In the classroom,

when looking up

words was exciting,

new. Not long, after the lesson

of counting by twos

and tying shoes. They rushed to the

dictionary.  A book that was full

of words forbidden. Dirty, foul,

adult ridden. They gathered around

on their free time,

free of naps and nursery rhymes.

“ver-jin-i-tee” their little

mouths said, “being unused or pure”

this definition was more than their mature

feeble minds could endure.

“What does ‘pyoor’ mean? Maybe

it’s a disease,” said the one with

missing front teeth. The other children laughed

and began to tease, “Yoou’ve got virginities.”

The word has not

changed and neither

has the laughter, little children are beginning

to lose (unaware)

this word faster and faster.

It takes on the reaction to a disease,

like boils, bubonic plague, and leprosy.

The “V” word is almost a phenomenon

a myth. In the lives of adults, it

does not exist. Holding on to it,

makes one treasured, obscure, or rare.

At the same time, one becomes

worthless beyond compare

Why? Because everyone

Is doing it,

So you should do it too

I guess I’d play follow the leader

if the game was all I knew.

Serving Artist aka Jamila Jones

theservingartist.com

I definitely feel like he’s watching me,

feel like he’s definitely watching.

Without my consent

and questionable intent.

I definitely feel like he’s watching

He’s talking to me and everyone else,

to himself, it seems like he’s talking.

He’s in a house all alone

no wife or kids to call his own

To himself, it seems like he’s talking.

He has always wanted to have a neighbor just like me?!

Why can’t he settle for puppets in the Land of Make-Believe?

So let’s change the channel and get lost in cartoons

with anvils falling and bombs for balloons.

To run and escape, run and escape.

This really creepy “neighbor”

No, I won’t be. Please stop asking me.

To just be,

your neighbor.

The very next day, he repeated his routine

The next day, his routine he repeated.

Without any pride

as humbly as pie

The next day he repeated his routine.

As he talked I hid under my chair,

under the chair I was hiding.

Full of dust bunnies and hair

dirty toys with germs. Unaware.

As he talked I hid under my chair.

I don’t even talk to my neighbors who live around me.

Mom and Dad said it’s dangerous to do so, in reality.

So I was cautious of Mr. Rogers and all he stood for,

as I watched him, watch me, on the living room floor.

As I hid and escaped, hid and escaped this

extremely “creepy neighbor.”

I was only three

when he calmly asked me

from t.v.

to just be

his neighbor.

Serving Artist aka Jamila Jones

theservingartist.com

I thought I was a servant.

One who responded to any beck and call

Until my character was made real to me,

that I'm not a good one at all

My desire to be kind or good or thoughtful had selfish aims.

Making tallies of all the deeds I've done to make a better name.

Then God began to expose me, revealing all my flaws

Everytime I performed an act of service,

I bumped into a law

My motive for serving was wrong to start

but now through Christ I see

I am here to serve others through Him,

allowing His love to shine through me.

He gave himself away for me

Found ways to capture my heart

when the rhythm of my chaotic life spiraled out of control.

He restored its tempo.

You fill me with hope again in the simplicity of living because of your purity.

When you died unselfishly for the sins of the world,

Jesus,

you captured me.

Jamila Jones aka Serving Artist

Website: theservingartist.com

I thought God was my 'go-get-high'

my supplier, the One who covered

me when I was a liar

a genie, my busboy to wait

on my every whim

I believed His Words were optional

not that I really needed Him...

I sold the truth to buy a lie

and then somehow came up short

The lie was more than I realized

a trick of some sort

Initially it cost less, a great bargain; a prize

but there were a number of hidden fees

(Fine print of evil thoughts, murders, malice, adulteries, the evidence couldn't be denied)

that add debt, despair to one's sanity

I wanted to buy truth again, but my finances ran out

In order to prosper, I must confess the lie I bought that produce death and doubt.