Within His  Hands

by Shauna Brown 

     Years ago I took a sculpting class. I have always marveled how one can take a piece of clay and fashion it into a sculpture that reflects beauty, and emotion.  

    The class was taught by Karl Quilter. Karl Quilter, passed away this weekend. Many people have never heard of him, but they would definitely recognize his work. He is famous for sculpting the Angel 

Moroni statues that sit atop most of the temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints. At this time of year his white nativity scenes are displayed at many of the temples He truly was a master artist.   

    My love of sculpting was short lived. Little children’s fingers 

certainly can’t be trusted around soft clay. Even though I placed my piece high upon the piano, I soon discovered I too had artisans living within my walls.    

     Once a week my friend Elaine and I would travel to Karl’s beginner’s sculpting class. I was eager to learn, as I purchased all the necessary supplies and tools. I loved working with my hands. There is something of an art to clay. I have great memories of that experience. There was session I shall never forget when I questioned all of my time, effort and ability.  

    My focused piece was sculpting a bust of my little daughter Brittany. I was delighted as her form and features were beginning to be realized. I had carefully figured dimensions, and proportions. I was excited that it was going so well.  Karl came to my table to review my piece.  I was hoping for a compliment, or at least a word of encouragement.  Holding a photograph of her next to my clay figure. He stood quiet. Then to my surprise and shock he quickly took his fingertips and drug them across my sculptured face leaving a distortion of clay for a head.  Just thinking about it makes my eyes bulge, not nearly as wide as then, but close.   

    “Do it again,” he said calmly.  My heart beat sadly, as I set to start over. A touch of discouragement filled my soul.  Where I thought I was putting on the finishing touches, I was now literally starting again. For days I didn’t even touch it.  

    I have pondered that breath taking experience many a time.  I  was at first crushed by Karl’s insensitivity to my young and budding talent.  But with time I have come to realize he was the master, trying to instill within me the desire to become even better.  

     While reading the book, Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis,  I was taken with the comparison:   

     “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”  

      Each of us are sculptors. We may not be working with clay, but lives are being molded by our very actions, words and examples.  We must be wise and discerning as to the impressions we leave upon tender clay.  

         Enjoy your Sabbath. 

Stand Tall • Strive Daily • Seek for the Best • 

     

Love always, 

Shauna