Leading From the Other Side of the Table

There are moments in life when I look around the studio at Prodigal Pottery and quietly think, God, only You could have written this story.

Eight years ago, I walked into this program as a woman who needed saving, healing, structure, accountability, and hope. I was not walking in as a leader. I was walking in as someone who needed people to believe that God was not finished with me. I needed someone to see me. Prodigal Pottery became one of the places God used to help save my life.

It gave me more than a job. It gave me rhythm when my life felt unstable. It gave me responsibility when I needed to learn how to show up again. It gave me community when I was still learning how to trust people. It gave me purpose when shame had convinced me I had nothing left to offer.

I started in this program with my hands in the same clay our women work with today, using the same brush strokes many of them still use now. I know what it feels like to sit at the table unsure of who you are anymore. I know what it feels like to be learning basic work habits while also trying to rebuild an entire life that I had worked hard to burn to the ground.

I know what it feels like to carry grief, addiction, trauma, regret, and fear into a room and still be asked to create something beautiful. I can remember thinking, My hands only create chaos and destruction. How could they ever create something worthwhile?

That changes the way I lead.

I do not direct Prodigal Pottery from a distance. I direct it through the lens of someone who has lived the need for a program like this. I know firsthand that a safe place to work can become a place where God rebuilds confidence. I know that a paycheck can mean more than income. Sometimes it means stability. Sometimes it means dignity. Sometimes it means a woman is beginning to believe she is capable again. Because of my own story, I see our women differently.

I do not just see employees. I see women in process. I see women learning how to trust themselves again. I see women fighting for their futures, their families, their sobriety, their healing, and their independence. I see the courage it takes to keep showing up when life is heavy. That does not mean the work is easy. In fact, it means I often carry the weight of both sides. I understand the mission deeply, but I also understand the real demands of running a business. We have orders to fill, deadlines to meet, customers to serve, products to improve, and decisions to make.

Some days require compassion. Some days require hard conversations. Most days require both. But every day requires the grace of our loving God. And that is one of the greatest lessons God has taught me in this role: love and accountability are not enemies. My love for these women often takes shape through accountability. Not punishment. Not shame. Not control. But the kind of accountability that says, “You are capable of more than this, and I love you too much to let you stay stuck.”

I know this because someone once loved me enough to hold me accountable. Someone loved me enough to show me another way. Someone loved me enough to challenge the patterns that were destroying me and point me toward a new path and point me to Christ. That kind of love changed my life.

Now, as a director, I often find myself walking the fine line between empowering and enabling. It is not always easy. It requires prayer, wisdom, patience, and honesty. But I believe the women in this program deserve more than sympathy. They deserve to be equipped. They deserve to be challenged. They deserve to be reminded that God has called them for a special purpose.

The women in this program deserve compassion, but they also deserve structure. They deserve grace, but they also deserve truth. They deserve encouragement, but they also deserve someone who will call them higher and remind them they are capable of more than survival.

That is the lens I try to lead through.

I lead remembering what it felt like to be new.

I lead remembering what it felt like to be scared.

I lead remembering what it felt like to need patience.

I lead remembering what it felt like when someone saw potential in me before I could see it in myself.

But I also lead knowing that healing requires movement. Growth requires responsibility. Restoration requires surrender, work, and willingness. This past season at Prodigal Pottery has stretched us. We have grown, adjusted, problem-solved, celebrated, grieved, created, and kept going. We have seen beautiful pieces leave our studio and travel into homes, churches, stores, and communities across the country.

But even more importantly, we have seen women continue to show up, learn, create, and take steps forward. That is the part of the story I never want to lose sight of. Every mug, ornament, ring dish, and custom piece carries more than clay and glaze. It carries hours of work. It carries a story of restoration. It carries the hands of women who are building something new, even while God is building something new in them.

As we look toward the next season, I hope that Prodigal Pottery continues to grow, not just in sales, orders, or opportunities, but in depth, strength, and purpose. I hope we continue to become a place where women are equipped for more than a job. I hope we help prepare women for life, leadership, responsibility, healing, and independence.

I hope we continue to make beautiful pottery, but even more than that, I hope we continue to make room for beautiful redemption stories and room for the love of Christ to penetrate our hearts and minds.

Because I am one of them.

I am not leading this program because I have always had it all together. I am leading this program because God used this very place to help put pieces of my life back together. And now, I get the honor of helping steward that same kind of place for other women.

That is not something I take lightly.

It is personal.

It is holy.

It is hard.

It is beautiful.

And I believe with all my heart that God is not finished with Prodigal Pottery or me.