The Tension Where Truth Lives

Before I say anything theological…
before I say anything polished…
I need to say something personal.

There was a season in my life when I didn’t believe I would ever preach again.

I had already been preaching for nearly twenty years. I started young—seventeen, maybe eighteen. Ministry wasn’t something I stepped into; it shaped my entire sense of who I was. Then my marriage ended. Social media was just emerging, which meant the pain wasn’t private—it was public. Messy. Humbling. And deeply breaking.

I wasn’t just grieving the loss of a relationship. I was grieving the loss of confidence… credibility… and a future I thought was settled. I remember thinking, This is it. I’ve gone too far. I’ve made too many mistakes. Whatever God had planned for me must be over now.

Even though that season is more than twenty years behind me, the fragments still exist. I’m familiar with that level of despair—the kind that makes you question whether there’s any coming back.

Just before that season, my mother was on her deathbed. She made me promise her two things. First, that I would take care of my children no matter what. Second, that I would never allow anyone or anything to stop me from doing what the Lord had called me to do. Those were the last words she ever spoke to me. The next day, she slipped into a coma and never regained consciousness.

Those two promises have governed my life for the last twenty-five years.

Today, I want to speak to someone standing where I once stood—tired… ashamed… discouraged… convinced that too much has been lost.

Here’s what Scripture keeps showing us.

When the clay was marred on the potter’s wheel, the potter didn’t throw it away. He didn’t shame the clay. He didn’t start over with something new. He stayed with it.

That matters.

Because it means God does not abandon lives that have been damaged by poor choices, painful seasons, or human weakness. He doesn’t require a flawless past to shape a faithful future. A marred life does not disqualify you from purpose.

Some of the deepest compassion we carry is born out of the places we wish we could erase. The ability to sit with others in their pain often comes from having known pain ourselves. What we call messy, God often calls usable.

This doesn’t excuse our mistakes.
It redeems them.

It doesn’t pretend the damage didn’t happen.
It declares the damage isn’t the end.

So if you’re looking at your life thinking, I’ve messed this up too badly… I’m too late… God can’t possibly do anything meaningful with this… hear me clearly:

It is not too late for you.

God is not finished.
The clay is still on the wheel.
And the hands of the Potter are still steady.

I wish I could tell you I’m a finished-work vessel…
but the truth is, I’m still on the wheel.

And if God can keep shaping me,
then it’s not too late for you either.

— Pastor Charles E. Howse Jr
Thetensionwheretruthlives.org
Beth-El Baptist Church
Wholeness 4 LIFE
Charles Howse
Loving The Unlovable:A Love Without Limits