Read

Romans 9:20–21 “But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?”

Think

Romans 9 might be one of the most theologically dense and emotionally challenging chapters in all of Scripture. It raises questions about God’s justice, human choice, and divine sovereignty. At some point, everyone wrestles with those questions in real life too.

Why did this happen to me?
Why not them?
Why didn’t God stop it?

Paul doesn’t offer a soft answer. He reminds us of something we often forget: we are not the author of the story. We are clay in the hands of a potter. Loved, seen, valued—but not in control.

That’s a hard truth, especially when life feels unfair.

But here’s what Paul knows: you will never find peace trying to be the narrator of your own life. You’ll either carry the crushing burden of trying to make sense of every detail, or you’ll constantly question the One who already sees the full picture.

Picture this. You walk into a movie theater halfway through a film. You don’t know the characters, the conflict, or the context. Someone’s crying. Someone’s yelling. You’re confused. If you judged the movie based only on what you saw in that moment, you’d probably walk out. But if you watched the whole story from beginning to end, you’d see how the pain fits into a larger purpose.

That’s how many of us live—walking into the middle of God’s story and assuming it doesn’t make sense. But the Author hasn’t stopped writing. What feels random or even cruel may be part of something far more redemptive than you can see right now.

We aren’t the first to wrestle with this. In 1956, a missionary named Jim Elliot was killed in Ecuador while trying to bring the gospel to a remote tribe. He and his friends were young, passionate, and obedient. Their deaths shocked the world. Why would God allow faithful servants to die before they had the chance to see fruit?

It seemed senseless—until years later, when the very people who had killed them became followers of Jesus through the ongoing witness of their families. Jim’s wife, Elisabeth, returned to that tribe and lived among them. Today, generations of believers trace their faith back to that moment. What once looked like a tragic ending turned out to be the start of a new chapter.

You may not be called to martyrdom, but you will be called to trust God when the page doesn’t make sense.

Maybe that’s where you are right now.

Maybe you’re in a chapter of waiting, or loss, or unanswered prayer. Maybe something in you wants to shout, “Why did you make me like this?” or “Why did this happen to my family?” And Paul would say, not to shame you, but to free you: you are not the potter. You are the clay. And the potter is not careless.

Let’s be clear. This isn’t an invitation to passive faith. Trusting God’s sovereignty doesn’t mean we stop grieving, questioning, or praying boldly. It means we acknowledge that God’s wisdom is greater than our perspective.

Think about a child watching their parent prepare medicine. The liquid smells awful, the spoon feels forced, the taste is bitter. The child protests. But the parent knows. Healing is on the other side of obedience. In the moment, the child feels betrayed. But in time, they see the love.

We are quick to evaluate our story based on the chapter we are in. But just like in a novel, a painful chapter is not the conclusion. God’s Word says that he is both the Author and the Finisher. That means he doesn’t abandon unfinished stories. If you are still breathing, your story is still moving. God has not walked off the set or put down the pen. His silence is not absence. It may be setting up something better than you had planned.

Our problem is not that God is unfair. It’s that we confuse fairness with comfort. We assume that if God is good, things should feel good. But if that were true, Jesus would never have gone to the cross.

Paul’s words in Romans 9 are not cold theology. They are a call to surrender. Not to a distant deity, but to a Father who shapes every part of your life with perfect love and purpose. He may not explain everything, but he never wastes anything.

You are not a random accident. You are not a forgotten project. You are a crafted vessel. That means even your pain is being held by steady hands. Your limitations are not mistakes. Your disappointments are not discarded. Every part of your life is raw material in the hands of a master artist. And when you don’t understand the chapter, trust the Author.

Apply

Write down one area of your life where you’re tempted to ask, “Why did this happen?” or “Why did you make me like this?” Instead of demanding an answer, bring it to God in surrender. Pray this: “God, I don’t understand, but I trust that you are good and you are not finished.” You don’t have to feel strong. You just have to stay on the wheel. Let the potter keep shaping you.

Pray

Father, I admit that I want to be in control. I want to understand everything. But today I choose to trust you, even when the story doesn’t make sense. Thank you for being patient with my questions and steady with your hands. Shape me into something useful, something beautiful, something that reflects you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.