In the Potter’s Hand

by Charlotte Chand

“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.’” –Jeremiah 18:6

Many of us identify as creators. We enjoy bringing something new into existence, whether through writing, music, or other creative expressions. We labor over our work, revising it repeatedly, discarding what doesn’t fit, beginning again when necessary, until the final result reflects our vision.

Now, let us turn the lens around. Instead of looking at the artist, let us look from the perspective of the artwork: the project, the sculpture, the song, the ceramic piece that begins like an unshaped lump of clay. Even more personally, let us place ourselves into the hands of the Creator, just as clay rests in the hands of the potter. This is where the analogy becomes deeply personal.

Recently, we traveled to visit family for a wedding. I believed I knew exactly what to expect. After all, this was family; siblings and cousins I had grown up with. Sundays once revolved around church, followed by time spent at my eldest uncle’s home. My father and his siblings gathered faithfully, and we cousins shared laughter, stories, and an unspoken sense of belonging.

Even as life progressed and major milestones like marriage unfolded, my parents’ generation held us together. They checked in on us, entrusted us with responsibilities, held us accountable, and modeled the beauty of interdependence. Carrying these memories, I attended my youngest cousin’s wedding expecting familiarity—expecting family.

What I failed to consider was that all the elders in our family, including my parents, have been called home by the Lord. As I write this, the weight of that reality still settles heavily on my heart. Everything had changed, though my expectations had not.

What I encountered instead was a strong sense of individualism. By God’s grace, everyone was ‘well settled’ by worldly standards. There was no lack of resources, and the wedding was extravagant. Yet something vital was missing—the soul of our family. The focus had shifted from “we” to “I.” Pride had quietly taken root, and with it, distance.

I found myself asking difficult questions. Would our parents be content with our personal success alone? Or would they grieve the loss of brotherly love and shared life? Scripture answers clearly:

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity!” (Psalm 133:1).

My heart, however, was not done being shaped. On the second half of our trip we visited my husband’s family, who have not yet accepted the Lordship of Jesus. My sons and I had been praying for their salvation and looking forward to our first gathering as a family after 17 years. We planned a family reunion so that all the brothers and their families could gather together. Except for one brother, his sons, and a daughter-in-law, the rest were unable to come due to conflicting commitments. Once again, I felt the ache of fractured connection; a hollow void where family should have been.

This journey stirred something deep within me. It forced me to examine how I live and love. I am part of a church whose mission is connecting people to Jesus and to one another, with a vision to partner with the Holy Spirit to transform families, the city, and the world. Yet here I was, confronted with brokenness in the very place that should feel a part of—family.

Perhaps no one else experienced this trip as I did. But I believe this stirring of my heart was intentional. I felt the pressure of the potter’s hands—pressing, reshaping, refining.

And so the question rose within me: How do I love people who do not show me love?

I am not the first to wrestle with this. The prophet Hosea was commanded to love Gomer, an unfaithful wife who repeatedly left him for other lovers. Yet Hosea pursued her, redeemed her, and restored her; offering a living picture of God’s relentless, covenantal love for His people.

If I have experienced God’s patient and enduring love—His mercy and abounding grace—then I am called to love beyond reciprocity. Jesus makes this unmistakably clear:

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them” (Luke 6:32).

Like clay in the potter’s hands, I am learning that love is often shaped through loss, discomfort, and obedience. The pressure is not meant to destroy us, but to form us. And the Potter never wastes a single moment of the molding.

Heavenly Father,
You are the Potter, and we are the clay. We place ourselves again into Your hands; hands that shape with wisdom, patience, and love. Even when the pressure feels heavy, remind us that You are forming something beautiful and eternal within us.

Forgive us for the times we choose comfort over obedience, and self over community. Soften our hearts where pride has taken root. Teach us to love as You love: faithfully, sacrificially, and without expecting anything in return.

Help us to walk in unity, to pursue reconciliation, and to reflect Your grace in our families, our churches, and our relationships. Where connections are broken, give us courage to love anyway. Where hearts are weary, fill us with Your peace.

Shape us, refine us, and use us for Your glory.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.