PREAMBLE

Just through the red door lies a mystical place where live the little-known creatures, the ones the world looks upon as myth and legend. In this realm, they live and breathe, just the same as you and I. Journey with me through the red door, to the place of imagination and we will find a new dimension of reality.

The new day calls out with an invitation from those beyond the door. It is they who wish to meet us and share their tales!

I hear Grandpa Ansel, a respected elder, greeting the new day, in his usual fashion.
“Hark, nobles ones of the realm! And good morning Gunder! You have no idea how happy it makes
me to know I’ll see you every day. We began life together and now we can finish together. What
shall we get up to today?”

Unlike Grandpa Ansel, Gunder wasn’t a morning gnome. Looking up from the cup of chicory he’d
been staring into, his response to Ansel resembled a growl, more than a morning greeting.
Laughing, Grandpa grabbed his vest off the hook beside the door and said, “It’s good to see not much
has changed with you, brother. When you’ve found your civility and can use your words, you know
where to find me.” Grandpa was still laughing as he closed the door and practically skipped to his
favorite log by the gardens.

Grandpa was whistling a merry tune with eyes alight with joy and renewed youth as I arrived. After
the beginning of the reunion I had witnessed the previous day, I arrived early, hoping to see if the
sense of excitement and anticipation of yesterday lingered.

Uncle Gunder reached Grandpa Ansel, mumbling a slightly more cordial ‘good morning’ than earlier.
“Ah! I see you have found your words. So, what shall we do today?” Grandpa asked, again.
“I suppose I should scout out a suitable tree under which to build my home,” Gunder answered. “I
can’t live under your roof forever. First though, I think I’d like to go find my old vein of clay and get my
hands in some mud. I used to enjoy the work of a potter, and I’d like to try my hand at it again. Do
you still have my old potting wheel?” Gunder asked.

“I have no idea. The one you need to ask is Elena. She knows where to find everything. Go collect
yourself some clay and I’ll go find out where the wheel is and have it ready for your return. You can
scout for a suitable tree as you go,” said Grandpa Ansel.

The pair returned to Grandma and Grandpa’s, one for a spade and pail, the other to find the potting
wheel. I followed some distance behind, eventually catching up. Uncle Gunder gave me a polite nod
and Grandpa a cheery ‘good morning.’

I asked Gunder if I could join him on his walk and he nodded his consent. I was surprised to find
myself back on my familiar road, leading to the red door. In the distance I saw it and wondered if
Gunder meant to cross the threshold. I had no knowledge about gnomes ever going through the red
door, so I held my tongue and tagged along. Quite close to the door, Gunder headed off on a narrow
path I had failed to observe on previous visits. The undergrowth was thick, impeding my progress,
but Gunder never broke stride. Having fallen behind a bit, I almost ran Gunder over as I broke into a
small clearing, which held a lone old oak. Gunder was circling the base of the tree, muttering to
himself.

“So, you’re still standing,” he said, as he laid his hand affectionately on an exposed root. “It’s been a
minute, old friend.”

“You know this tree well, don’t you Uncle Gunder?” I asked.

“Aye. We are old friends. As a lad, I always believed I would build my home among the roots of this
tree. As I determined to return home, my thoughts remained that this would be my home if my friend
was still standing. It’s far enough from the heart of the village that an old bachelor gnome can get
some peace, but close enough to still be a part of Rehoboth. It has grown to be grand and will be a
worthy home for me in my old age. What do you think of her? ” he asked, with a look that spoke of his
love for his old friend.

“It’s quite perfect for you,” I answered.

“I agree. Let’s go get some clay and I’ll show you how to make a bowl, if I still have a feel for pottery,”
said Uncle Gunder, grinning. Clearly pleased to find his old friend, the oak, standing firm, he darted
down the path further. By the time I caught up with Gunder, who had scooted through the underbrush
while I struggled with chin tangle, he’d filled his pail and was making his way toward me. We
returned to Grandpa Ansel’s in companionable silence. I felt privileged to have been the first to see
the future home of Uncle Gunder.

As promised, the potting wheel was set up and ready. Gunder fetched some water in a second pail
and settled himself at the wheel. Soon enough the youngsters found us, fascinated as they watched
Gunder wet and work the clay skillfully, even after all these years.

Leisel asked, “Uncle Gunder, how do you know what to make? Is it like when Grandpa Ansel carved
the pheasant from the stick? He said the pheasant was inside the stick just waiting to be found.”
“Draw near dear ones. Gather close and hear the wisdom of age, for you have just begun and have
much to learn,” Gunder said, shocking everyone within hearing.

“No, Leisel. The clay doesn’t decide what it shall become. It’s at the mercy of the potter. The potter
is the creator, and the creation has no say whether it shall be a cup or a plate or a chamber pot.
In looking at a stick, Grandpa envisions what already exists, for the stick already exists, holding the
secret of Grandpa’s vision. Carving isn’t the same kind of work as potting.

Potting at the wheel is to take a formless lump of clay and create something beautiful or useful, or
both. The potter decides what the creation will be as well as its purpose. The creation will always be
inferior to the creator, serving the purpose of the creator and remaining subject to the will of the
creator.

So it is with all of Rehoboth, which is a creation formed by a creator. Each of us has been uniquely
designed with purpose. We do not decide how we will look or what our purpose shall be. We are all
as clay on the wheel of the potter, our Creator. He shapes us and can reshape us until we are
perfectly formed to fulfill His purpose for us.”

References

Jeremiah 18:1-6(This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: ² “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” ³ So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. ⁴ But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

⁵ Then the word of the Lord came to me. ⁶ He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the Lord. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.)

Isaiah 64:8(Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.)

Romans 9:21(Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?)

2 Timothy 2:20-21( In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for special purposes and some for common use. ²¹ Those who cleanse themselves from the latter will be instruments for special purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.)