Baby Steps

I have written before about my love of pottery. I hold a weighty pitcher in my hand, designed, formed, and glazed in colors chosen by an artisan, and I am amazed. Each piece is unique, imperfectly perfect. For me, there is a simple, pure beauty in the pottery I collect. It’s not fancy or flashy, but feels like home.

What could be better than pottery? Becoming a potter! I was unbelievably excited when I recently signed up for a pottery class! I sat at my laptop and submitted payment for the class and my eyes filled with tears. Really. I had visions of beautiful bowls and mugs lining the shelves in our cabin, wrapped in gift boxes for my friends and family.

The first class was hand modeling and I felt like a little kid again in art class. The creative in me was bubbling over with enthusiasm, learning how to cut clay with a wire and roll it out, how to score it, how to form a handle for my very own mug! Something asleep in me was awoken that night. On the way home, I called three of my kids to say, “Guess what I did!”

One week later, I walked into class anticipating throwing on a wheel for the first time in my life! As a high school art student, back in the day, I had some experience with hand modeling, but the wheel would be a new experience. I felt proud of myself for trying something new, for pursuing a creative outlet, for doing something just for fun.

Every step in the process felt awkward that night. Throw the ball onto the center of that wheel. Find the right wheel speed. Keep the clay wet. Keep your right hand perpendicular. Rest your elbow on your knee. Relax your hands and let go. Keep the clay wet. Relax and let go. Press your thumbs this way, not that way. My mind was reeling from all the instructions, my hands were trying to keep up and I realized this was way harder than I ever imagined.

I could not “center” the clay on the wheel, which must be done before you can begin creating anything. My instructor graciously centered my clay, and I somehow managed to make a hole in the middle, pull the clay open, and form my first piece. The wheel and the clay had decided we were making a dog bowl.

How could it be so difficult? The second week on the wheel left me feeling straight-up discouraged. I felt stupid. I second-guessed myself. I drove home almost in tears. I wanted so badly to create something beautiful. I wanted to be a potter.

I don’t know about you, but once I think the first ugly thought about myself, it snowballs. My perceived failure at throwing on the wheel grew quickly into an overwhelming sense of discouragement. It took a couple of days to get over myself, gain perspective, and allow joyful anticipation to take root in my heart again.

From the reception desk at my job, I have a beautiful view of our town square. As I sat working, still heavy with discouragement, I watched a young couple with their toddler. She was learning to walk in the way that babies do- two steps then pause, three steps then sway and wobble, wobble and sway, trying to gain balance, then falling back onto diaper-cushioned bottom. She rolled over onto her hands and knees, working to stand once more and start over.

My kind and gracious God whispered to my heart, “When you are learning to walk, it’s more wobbling than walking.” My soul took in a deep breath of grace.

As that sweet baby found her way, I watched her parents walking beside her in sheer delight, smiling and laughing. Suddenly, I was watching my own sweet girl taking her first steps. I felt excitement and pride as she approached this milestone. I held my breath with anticipation over each step, ready to catch her, wanting to protect her.

God whispered again, “Falling is part of walking.”

I smiled, feeling almost silly. It was so obvious; we wobble before we walk. We learn to walk before we learn to run and leap and dance. Some of my greatest joys in life have been watching my children taking their first steps into new adventures, so why wasn’t I feeling that same joy as I wobbled my way through pottery class?

Two sessions on the wheel and my expectations not only stole my joy, but crushed my spirit. I watched my instructor, with sixteen years of experience, and thought that I could somehow skip the baby steps.

The only person disappointed with my dog bowl was me. My heavenly Father was joyfully watching my first steps, smiling and laughing. He’s a good Father.

Life is full of firsts. Some we eagerly sign up for online while others are thrust upon us. Whether it’s the first day of pottery class, the first day caring for a new baby, the first week launching a new business, our first broken heart, or our first Sunday sitting alone in church after a divorce, it might look more like wobbling than walking.

As we watch a toddler, arms out, legs awkwardly stepping, stumbling, falling, we see a beautiful process called “growth”. Have you ever observed parents scolding their baby for not getting it right the first try? No, they’re right there with cameras out, eyes wide with excitement, trying to capture every moment. Fall after fall, little ones are cheered on by proud parents. Baby steps are a part of growing up and worth celebrating.

Somewhere along the way, our wobbling first steps are celebrated less and less. Some of us, weighed down by pressure to perform, are too afraid to even take a step. We fall and fail and shame creeps in to steal our joy before we can get back up to try again. We live life with unrealistic expectations instead of celebrations.

Babies take those first steps within the presence, protection, and encouragement of loving adults. Their love has created a safe place where falling leads to growing, where walking turns to dancing and running. What a beautiful picture of the grace our Father has lavished on us.

As we did with our children, he backs up a few steps with open arms. His eyes are wide with joy and he smiles from ear to ear as he calls us to take those steps. He’s there beside us to hold our hand if we need it. He is cheering us on, celebrating the three wobbly steps forward, the falls, and even the tears. He is just celebrating us because we are His. We are loved.

The fear of failure, the shame of our inadequacies, the critical voice picking apart our best attempts - those are not from our Father. That’s not how a father loves his daughter, and that’s who we are. We are dearly loved daughters.

Where are you taking baby steps in your life? Maybe it’s a new job, a new role, a new season of life. Think of the last time you watched your child stumbling through first steps and give yourself that same love and acceptance. Open your heart to the encouragement of your heavenly Father. Remember the patience and compassion of his character. Remember to stop and celebrate the smallest of steps. You may feel like you’re falling down more than stepping forward, but walking looks like wobbling at first.

Trust today that one day you will dance and run and your Father because you are starting within the presence, protection and encouragement of your loving Father.

With the help of an instructor and through much laughter and lots of mistakes, I created six pieces on the wheel. They survived the first firing. I dipped them in glaze, and in a few weeks I will go pick them up and joyfully display them in our cabin. Even the dog bowl.

Guess what? I’m not done yet. I signed up for another class. The best bowls are yet to come!

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1