I’ve been thinking a lot about the metaphor of God as a potter lately.
I have this weird (and obviously human) picture of God in my head: sitting there before the foundation of the world, with this piece of clay that would be me.
I can imagine him making me, my heart, mind, soul and strength with joy and intention.
I can imagine Him planning all my days, and making my clay have the perfect indentations to fit to the life He was making for me.
I want to know if I was prepared for marriage or for specific ministry opportunities. But the Bible tells me all that I need to know about His plans for me: He made me to know the riches of His glory.
Every indentation, every dent, every skill and strength and detail of every day was written into my life to that end: knowing Him.
Not ‘knowing Him’ like knowing true things about Him. Romans 1 says that everyone knows true things about God. I’m made for something different. I’m made with the purpose of treasuring Him, worshipping Him; to enjoy and delight in the glory of who He is.
And so today, I’m thinking.
I’m thinking about one of the hardest days of my life. I had just encountered deep and dark sin that I was confident would never be a part of my story, especially not after Jesus came into it.
I remember the black despair that closed in that day; the desperate defeat that made me grasp for any hope that would stop the pain, even ending my life.
I remember there, on the floor of that night, meeting the Gospel as a different kind of good news. Not like, sweet and cuddly good news, but like the only hope for my life.
And I am thinking today of God, before the foundation of the world – writing that chapter into my clay, thinning out that very area of weakness so it would crumble and I would get to know the riches of the glory of His grace. He loved me too much to leave me with a dry and academic understanding of the Gospel. He wanted it to taste like life to me.
I’m thinking about the two weeks I spent two summers ago, saying goodbye to my father, watching him slip away in front of me. I remember the way God’s sovereignty hardened and firmed under my feet while everything else slipped away.
And today I am imagining God, before the foundation of the world, with a slight sad smile in His heart, writing that chapter with all the tears and all the pain because He had something for me that I could never get any other way: Him.
We all know that God is a good father. We all know that He loves us.
But because my story is written the way it is I have been forced to wrestle in deep places in my soul with the question: is He father enough?
And the answer resonates back. Yes. He is a father who will spare nothing – even His Son – to prove His love. He is a father who will never fail, never forsake, never leave.
I love this God. I treasure Him. Because I was prepared before the foundation of the world for just that purpose.
And He has written every thread of my story to move me to that end.
