But not predictably
Maybe not just the season
Maybe You're changing me
Four years of molding
Sweet, gentle embraces
Of the original clay
Are left only traces
Refining, preparing, enchanting
You captivated my heart
Your love became my lifeblood
Grace has freed Your work of art
Your next technique
Styles my eyes have not yet seen
But just as good and loving
So I must not intervene
Give me eyes of faith for trusting
As you spin me on Your wheel
Though the motion robs my balance
Joy my enemy may not steal
Excessive planning I surrender
Exchange control for Your master plan
Proclaim you Lord of all I'm after
As I am clay in my Father's hand
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