My name is Pastor White, and I’m the pastor of Psalms 23 Ministry here in Rochester, NY. Before I start, I would like to say: I have never met a man who has given me more trouble than myself. Let me explain.

     I was addicted to alcohol and crack cocaine for over 30 years. Compounded with this, I served over 20 years in the prisons of New York State. 

    One of my favorite verses is 1 Thessalonians 5:18: “In everything, give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

     I heard a story the other day of a lady who traveled to England. While there, she stopped in London’s finest stores. One day, she saw the most beautiful cup she had ever seen. Hurriedly, she went in and bought the cup. Every day, she would take the cup out and admire it. She would even talk to the cup and say, “I’m glad that I found you, cup. You’re the most beautiful cup that I’ve ever seen.” On a voyage home, she tried to keep the cup wrapped up, but she couldn’t refrain. She took the cup out and admired its beauty. I see her in my mind’s eye as she’s stretched out in her cabin. Soon, she drifted off to sleep, the cup held fast in her hand. While she slept, she dreamed—and the cup talked back to her.

The cup said, “You know, I’m tired of you telling me how beautiful I am. I’m not what I used to be. I once was nothing but clay and dirt until one day, a master craftsman came along and lifted me up out of the mire. I didn’t understand it when he beat me and shaped me. I didn’t understand it when he put me in the kiln. He put me in an oven hotter than you can imagine. I couldn’t imagine why he would paint me and then put me back in the oven to bake me. But you know, I learned to thank that master craftsman. Because if he had not molded me, I’d be shapeless and without form. If he had not put me in the oven of oppression, I’d have no structural integrity. If he had not put that paint on me, I’d have no color. If he had not put me back in the oven to bake me again, I would fall apart. And so, I thank him. I’ve learned to thank him when I’m beaten and thank him when I’m painted in pain. I’ve learned in all things, in everything, to give thanks. And I thank him when the heat is more than I can bear. But I don’t know any way to say it any better than the old way: I thank you, Jesus. I thank you, Lord, for you brought me from a mighty, mighty long way. Lord, I thank you. Lord, I thank you. I just thank you all the days of my life. When I was sick, you healed me. When I was down, you raised me. – Lord, thank you.”