The Potter’s Hands

As I look on my life, I see the way the potter’s hands have shaped and molded me to be who I am today. I see the gentle way those hands guide me to form me. I see the times when the hands put slight pressure on me and times when they relaxed to let me breathe out. But more than that, I see the times that I, like the clay, fell apart in those hands, in the middle of them trying to turn me into a masterpiece. And each time I can point to my life or myself falling apart, those hands picked up all the pieces of clay and used them to reshape and mold me anew, to make a new masterpiece with the same clay that seconds before was in pieces on the ground.

Oh how loved we are that in the moments when life is dark, in the times when everything has seemingly fallen apart, those potter’s hands know that I was created from the beginning to be a masterpiece. Those hands know that they selected the exact amount and right type of clay for me to be what they envisioned me to be. The potter knows that by picking up the same clay, and reforming it, the most incredible masterpiece is still possible.

How beautiful it is to see that all the parts of me from the beginning will in the end become this masterpiece. How amazing to know that the clay I thought was broken just needed new life, a new form. How incredible to know that the same situation that made me crumble would also become the situation that would transform me.

Three years ago was one of those times when the clay fell apart. The clay of my life became dry and crumbled to pieces in the potter’s hands. I see now that the potters hands calmly gathered all the scattered pieces of clay and formed them into a ball. Then they put the ball on the potter’s wheel and began to guide and shape my life, using all the pieces that fell apart before, but having reworked them and rejoined them in a new way so that this time they would stick. With calm patience, those potter’s hands continued to work, bringing new life to the dried clay that had previously been there. They added water like the waters of baptism to strengthen me and make me new. As the hands continued to shape me into something new, they continually met me where I was.

May we all be potter’s hands to each other. In times when someone’s life has become dry or fallen into pieces, may we, like the potter, meet them where they are. Without trying to change the clay material that makes them who they are, may we help them gather all of who why are, put all the pieces of themselves into a ball and place it on the potter’s wheel and leave it to the potter to reconstruct new possibility of life in them. For through the potter’s hands, portals of hope are formed and new life is given. We don’t need to become something other than who were were originally created to be, we need only to place all of ourselves on the wheel and let the potter’s beautiful hands work to turn us into the masterpiece he envisioned us to be.

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