Born from an idea of the most creative God, she first existed in the corners of His imagination. A smile drew across His lips as He pondered the life He would give her, the blessings He would shower upon her, the pride He would feel to call her His. She is a lump of earth, full of potential, in His skilled hands – hands that molded the stars and hold the universe in place. These same hands were molding her into being, leaving His fingerprints in every aspect of her life. Fingerprints barely visible unless she really searched for them. He left them in the mold that she may follow them back to Him.
As a smile stretched across His face at the thought of blessings He planned to lavish on her, tears escaped His eyes and traced trails down His face when thinking of the heart breaks she will undergo in order to make her perfect, as well as the heartbreaks He will endure for her sake.
Clay does not choose how it is to be molded, what it is to become. The sculptor is the master over his clay. If He is not satisfied, if the creation is not perfect, it is in His power to crush her and begin again. Shattered to pieces, crushed beyond recognition, there is still a bittersweet hope. He does it because she is not yet perfect. He will continue to mold her however long it takes, however many times He must begin again. He will make her perfect.
In the scream of silence, the caress of a whisper brushed across her face. Born from the imagination of the Most High God, He seals her with His promise.
She is His masterpiece.