The potter's pendant

The potter came back with a massive harvest of clay. For his final masterpiece, he wanted to make various clay ornaments. He was going to totally transform his house doing what he knew how to do best.

A center table, a cup, a bowl, a jar, a vase, and a small ceramic pendant.

The potter was ecstatic. His final masterpiece. This grand set, each holding a significance very dear to his heart.

So he got up. The potter brought his wheel and began partitioning the clay into different portions. He started from the largest piece to the smallest piece.

He made the center table, the vase, the jar, the plate, the bowl... and now, it was time for the ceramic pendant.

“Why?” said the clay.

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you like me? Why have you decided to make me last? Why have you decided to make me small? You are a partial potter. Why can’t I be like the center table? Or the vase? Or even the bowl? That way, people would see me! People would appreciate me. Who needs a stupid pendant anyway?”

The clay was very angry. It was unfair. What did it do to deserve this punishment?

It came with the other clay portions, so why was it being used to make something so small?

The potter looked at the clay and sighed.
“What makes you think you’re not important? Is it because the other pieces are more visible than you are?

Clay, when I went to pick you all up, I already had a plan for every single one. I had the plan before I went clay hunting. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do — you were always going to be my pendant piece.”

The clay was trying to understand, but it didn’t seem to grasp it, so it asked, “Why?”

“You see, this is my last piece of art. My masterpiece. So I wanted it to be really special. Every one of you is significant in different ways…size regardless.”

“How am I significant? I am so small. No one will ever notice me, no one will see me no matter where I am.”

“I never made you to be seen.”

What? Why?

“Because you are special to me. You are different from the other pieces.

When I met my wife, I gave her a ceramic pendant I made — just something simple, but she loved it. For our first anniversary, I made her another, more delicate one, with tiny patterns carved into it. She wore it every day. In her last days, she asked me to bring it to her in the hospital. She held it in her hand, ran her fingers over those designs while she softly sang her favorite hymns. She passed on with the pendant in her hand, and we buried her with it.

For my final piece, I want to make a similar one. One that I can use to remember her. One that I would want to hold on to till the day I die, so that when I see her again in heaven, I can tell her I replicated that design to feel closer to her. And I will tell her how happy it made me.”

The potter’s eyes glistened with tears.
“I did not make you to be seen.”

The clay was in awe. With the story the potter had just told it, it could see that it was easily the most important piece to the potter. Not to the whole world, but to the one who made him. So, anytime people came around to visit, they would most likely talk about the center table, or maybe the beautiful vase. Maybe the fine dining bowl and cup. But no one would see it and talk about it, no matter how hard it tried. It was meant to be in a special place. Sometimes worn close to the heart, sometimes resting in the potter’s hand. When all the visitors had come and gone, the potter would go and hold the pendant and once more, feel closer to his wife than ever. And the potter would be happy.

The clay’s awe gradually shifted to gratitude. To joy. What made the potter choose him? Every day, he would be more connected to the potter than anyone else. He was also connecting the potter to his wife. He was the potter’s most important piece.

If only we were like the clay — happy and grateful for the opportunity we have, instead of trying so hard to be the center table. If only!

If you were made to be the ceramic pendant, that’s all you probably would be until your assignment is done. No matter how hard you try, you will never become a center table.

And that is exactly how life is. Some people were made to be the plates, some the cups, some the vases, and well, others — the ceramic pendant — because that is what the potter wants.

And if you do not come to that understanding, like the clay did, you may live a frustrated life.

You need to come to terms with the fact that even though we all want to have great, bright, and prominent features, we will not all have that.

I remember when we first got to the university. During our orientation, they told us,
“You’re all on a 4.0 now. You haven’t written any tests or exams. This is a clean slate. Maximize your opportunities. Do with them as you wish.”

And you know what? Many of us were deeply inspired. We were all smart, after all. It felt like they had handpicked the brightest minds and placed them in my class. We actually did pick the course ourselves, but you get the point.

Most of us probably said to ourselves, "With determination and hard work, I can start with a 4.0 and do excellently well. Maybe even finish with a 4.0 or something close. I will work very hard."

We had the willpower. Every single one of us had the potential to be the best graduating student. Everyone was just that smart. We had the drive too. We were so motivated in the beginning.

But I hate to break it to you. A few years in, and there’s not a single person in my class still on a 4.0.

What do we have now? A wide range of different grades.
Some people with truly remarkable results.
Some juggling school with side hustles.
Some who have dropped out.
Some who have left the country.
And some who are just there, doing their best, whether or not it feels like it’s enough

But remember, we were all clay from the same source.
We’re just all going to turn out as different products.

I saw this picture in an Instagram reel recently, and it made me think deeply.

This picture? It’s something I had always thought about since I was younger. I went to different schools in different places and met different people, so I knew that by the laws of probability, in a number of years, many of the people I’ve come across would have absolutely different fates. And I mean both positively and negatively.

Like in the picture, they could be the doctor or the architect. But also, they could be the homeless person or even the dead.

And this is why, in everything we do, we must remember there is still a Potter who has the ultimate decision. Who decides our fate.

I lost a very good friend last year, and oh, how I remember our conversations!
The second to the last long conversation we had before she passed, she kept telling me how she felt she wasn’t doing enough. She wasn’t where she wanted to be. She mentioned some people she felt were doing well, and my genuine response to her was:

“Ola, you’re doing just fine. You never know what will happen after school. You might not even need all this work you’re putting in now. It could even be connection that will take you places. I mean, put in the work o, but really, don’t stress. You’re doing amazing. You’re a genius, and you’ll figure it out. There’s still time.”

And I hugged her after that conversation (I always did, multiple times, whenever I saw her. She used to call me a hugger).

And now that she’s gone, I can really understand why I thought she didn’t need to stress. Heaven is a much better place, and she’s there now. It’s as the potter wanted.

This is a very dicey message because it’s one people often push back on. They’ll say, “That’s not true, if you put in the effort, you’ll get the result. You’re just not working hard enough.”
But you see, that’s a lot easier for the center table to say. Because it just doesn’t know. It doesn’t realize that it was already preset to be a center table.

In philosophy, there’s a long-standing debate: Free will vs. Determinism. The core question is, “Do things just happen on their own, or is everything a result of our actions or inactions?” Very interesting question.

In the school of God, I believe both free will and determinism coexist. Determinism plays a role in the fact that you were already shaped into something, preset if you will. Free will is what you do along the path that determinism has placed you on.
I hope that makes sense.

So take a deep breath and do your absolute best in life, but also know that you might be a different portion of clay, and that’s completely alright.
You are just as useful to the Potter as any other piece.

Until next week,
Titilayo