Recently on a family vacation, I posted a picture at the beach here in South Carolina. To which a friend of mine commented on it saying, “South Carolina looks good on you Ava J.” That comment really stuck out to me because it sounded similar to something I heard four years ago. When I had just moved to Portugal, my mom posted a picture of me captioned, “Europe looks good on you kid.” These two sentences, as disconnected as they seem, are connected by a single word, me. When giving introductions, I always introduce myself as where I am originally from, but also where I live now. “Hi, I’m Ava. I am from America, but I live in Portugal now.” I have become quite annoyed with this self-introduction because it places my identity in something that does not hold value. But over the years this small self-introduction, as harmless as it seems, has slowly spoiled my heart. My heart began to be entangled with roots of pride. The question of, “Who am I?” shifted into “What am I?” I began to identify myself as what I brought to the table. I am American. I am newly European. I am kind. I am funny. My identity was grounded in what I could bring to the King’s table, as if it holds anything of value in His glorious presence! Oh, how easy it came to my flesh to turn my eyes towards self. For humans having been doing it from the beginning. Take Cain for example. His pride in himself and what he could offer to God led him to murder his own brother. As I looked at myself in the mirror and asked the question “Who am I?”, I saw the Lord stripping away this façade off my face. He took off my jewelry and whipped off my makeup. As He stood behind me in the mirror, He gently said, “My child, you are mine.” It is not about what I bring to the table, because I have nothing to offer. Instead, I am the very one sitting on His table as He molds me into what seems good to Him. I am clay and He is the Potter. I think it is fitting that I am a piece of clay. I feel like I have been molded into different things by the different cultures and people I have been around. But much more eternally significant than being shaped by surroundings, the Potter Himself is shaping me into His likeness. Every stroke, every impression, and every fingerprint left by the Potter is intentional. He is the Master-Designer. I sat on the Potter’s wheel, a spoiled vessel from pride and sin, but He compassionately worked on me. He continues to do so even now! I am what He says I am. I am His! Despite plane rides and different addresses, my location remains the same. I am in His hands on the Potter’s wheel. Where I hope to find my reflection is not in airplane windows or mirrors, but in the eyes of my Potter. There I know my refection is ever-changing more into His image.
Jerimiah 18:1-5
“The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Arise, and go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do.”
Ava J
Jackson 5: Living on Mission 