The Story Of The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in her master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. "Why? asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."


—Author Unknown

From The Broken Place

I heard a story a long time ago, about a young man, an athlete, who was beginning to make a name for himself.   He had just
been recognized nationally for his gifts, when he was involved in a car accident.
He lost a leg, and ended his athletic career.
He became lost and bitter. Therapy began to restore him to himself. As part of his therapy he drew a picture of how he felt. He drew himself with a jagged black tear through the center of his heart and body. At some point in his recovery he began to visit hospitals and those who were going through the same thing he had gone through, to make the loss he had suffered of value.


He went to the room of a despondent young woman who had also lost a leg. She saw him come and and ignored him until he took off his leg and began to dance around, whistle and snap his fingers. She said, "how could I stay depressed if he can do that!" Eventually they married and began to counsel others together. At some point at the end of his therapy, he decided to finish the drawing he had started and did not erase the jagged broken line through his heart, but instead drew in light rays coming from the broken place, and said that, "From the place that was broken is the source of the light."