RYL 2 “Clay in the Potter’s Hand”

Pliable Clay 

In the journey we’ve traveled so far, we were reminded that God has captured every tear and invites us to trust Him—not the people who failed us—as He restores what was stolen. God says, “Then I will make up to you for the years that was lost or stolen.” He calls us to shift our treasure to Him, to surrender our plans, and to find courage in His nearness: “Be still and know that I am God…” Even in the valley, His love holds steady, exposing the enemy’s lies and washing our hearts with His Word. We must be “Washed in the water of the Word.“ 

Waiting on the “Wonderful Counselor,” we learn to build on solid ground not shifting sand by living God’s way instead of the world’s. Most of all, healing begins when we whisper, “God, I’m ready,” and let Him bind up our wounds—“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” 

“God Changes Us”  

As you feel the gentle turning of the Potter’s wheel, you will begin to understand that God usually does not change the other person—their attitude, their choices, or even their behavior—because He is using what they are doing as the Potter’s wheel beneath His hands. All the while, He is molding you gently into His image and drawing you closer to Himself. Most of the time, the person who hurt us will not even show remorse. They may move on as if nothing happened, but even then, God is still working. He sees the injustice. He understands what it cost you. And though He may not change them, He uses even their hardness as part of His loving work in you. 

All my tears in Your bottle. The Potter never wastes a single tear. Each one has a purpose. He uses every tear that falls to soften the dry and hardened clay of your heart—those places that have become tough from years of pain and disappointment. Slowly, tenderly, He mixes those tears into the clay, making it pliable again, shaping it into something soft and beautiful. What once felt lifeless begins to move again beneath His touch. The very tears that came from sorrow become the water He uses to bring you back to life. “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” 

He knows the places that have been wounded for so long that even love feels unsafe. So instead of fixing what’s around you, He begins His healing within you. Each ache, disappointment, and lonely night becomes part of His quiet work—reshaping what was once hardened by pain into something tender and whole again. 

Does a clay pot argue with its Maker?  Don’t think that changing your circumstances—running, isolating, or controlling every detail—will make things better. Something else will always rise to take its place. The more we resist what God allows for our healing, the longer we stay wandering in a desert of frustration. God gently reminds us, “What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator. Does a clay pot argue with its Maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying, ‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim, ‘How clumsy can you be?” Stop running! Running only delays the healing He longs to bring you. 

It’s hard to trust when life has taught you that trust only leads to pain. You’ve been let down and hurt, maybe more times than you can count, and it’s left you guarded—afraid to open your heart again. But God’s hands are not like human hands. They don’t strike—they heal. They don’t abandon—they hold. His touch is gentle where others have been careless, patient where others have rushed, and kind where others have wounded. When He begins to shape what was broken, He does it with the tenderness of the One who knows every scar and loves you too much to leave you shattered. 

He doesn’t understand.  “You have turned things around, as if the Potter were the same as the clay. How can what is made say about its Maker, ‘He didn’t make me’? How can what He formed say about the One who formed it, ‘He doesn’t understand what He’s doing’?” Maybe your heart whispers that phrase in the quiet moments when no one sees the depth of your pain. And maybe no one on earth could truly understand—but He does. Every tear, every trembling breath, every sleepless night—He saw it all.  

Stop telling people who could never fully understand, maybe don’t care and those who have not been able to help you, but have contributed to more pain, confusion and hopelessness. 

You are in My hand. Talk to the Lord about your pain. Tell Him the truth of it—all of it. He is not offended by your feelings; He already knows them. But when you speak to Him with raw, unfiltered honesty, that’s when your heart grows quiet enough to hear His voice most clearly. Let Him hold what you can’t carry. He knows what’s best for you and can turn “ashes into beauty.” Trust His promise: “O Beloved, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand.” 

Isn’t it comforting to know that your life—every broken and hidden piece—is held tenderly in His hands? You have never slipped from His care. Others may have turned away, forgotten, or made you feel invisible, but your Beloved never has. He has watched over you through every dark hour, whispering love into the silence. You can simply come to Him and rest—messy, tired, and real—and let His peace cover you like a warm blanket. 

You are seen. You are known. You are cherished. 

The One who formed your heart still calls you His beloved. His love doesn’t fade when you falter, and it doesn’t lessen when you feel unworthy. When everything else feels uncertain, His love remains—steady, gentle, unshakable. 

Remember this, dear heart: love—true love—never fails. Though the world may have rejected your love or mishandled your trust, His love will never let you go. Let patience do its quiet work, and in time, it will lead you into His perfect peace. Rest there. Be still. Let Him hold you close. Hide your heart deeply inside His—where it has always belonged.

My story: I experienced something very painful as a child, something I never told anyone about. For years, I tried my best to forget it. Whenever the memories surfaced, I would push them back down—harder each time—determined to bury what I couldn’t bear to face.

My healing began one night as I sat on the floor in my study, weeping uncontrollably, finally telling the Lord everything that had been hidden in my heart. I was raw and real. I asked Him why He hadn’t protected me from the evil that was done to me. I asked why my mother would leave me alone with the older boys—was she not worried, did she not know? Question after question poured out, and with each one came a gentle reassurance from the Lord.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. Even now, tears fill my eyes when I think about it what began my healing. My hand was resting on the floor, palm down, and suddenly it felt as though Someone placed their hand over mine. I was alone at home, yet I wasn’t afraid. Instead, a deep peace settled over me—quiet, warm, and steady. 

This experience only happened that one time, but in that moment, I knew healing had begun. I had stopped running. I finally spoke to Him—not in anger or bitterness, but in the raw, trembling honesty of someone who had been hurting for far too long. And in that honesty, He met me. Only when I was honest and stopped running was the Potter able to begin His good work in me. As painful as it was to walk through it with Him, it was just as rewarding and deeply healing.