Broken Birthday Pots

Hi, I’m Jonathan Edward. I’m Bethyl’s brother. I died 3 years ago. But today is still my birthday. It’s 64 years since I was born. I was God’s messenger, just like you are, but I delivered the Message in just a little different kind of wrapper. You’re probably not severely retarded like I was. You probably don’t have cerebral palsy like I did. Your bones probably didn’t break very easily since age six, like mine did. But you have your own kind of broken down, chipped, or otherwise damaged clay pot that you house your soul in. I guess we’re more alike than different in that way.

From the time I was a little boy you could hear me bellowing out in the night hours, “This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long…” God put me here as one of the “least of these” that carried His image. God chose for me a family that loved and served Him, including letting Him have His own way. I liked to sing, “have thine own way, Lord; you are the potter, I am the clay.” You couldn’t probably make out my words when I sang them. They came out kinda garbled. But if you knew the song, you’d know the tune, if you cared to listen.

That’s all for today. I just wanted to pop in and sing, “Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Jonathan; happy birthday to me.”