There was
once a humble water bearer who lived in a small village, nestled between dusty
hills and a winding stream. Each morning, he made his way to the water source
with a wooden pole across his shoulders, carrying two large clay pots—one
hanging from each end.
One pot
was flawless—smooth, strong, and reliable. It always arrived at the master's
house full, never spilling a drop. The other pot, however, had a long crack
running down its side. No matter how carefully it was filled, by the time the
water bearer reached his destination, half of its contents had leaked away.
This
daily journey went on for two long years.
The
perfect pot was understandably proud of its work. It stood tall and unbothered,
fulfilling its purpose with confidence. But the cracked pot—though it tried its
best—was quietly burdened with shame. Each evening, as it dripped the last of
its diminished contents, it hung a little lower, filled more with guilt than
with water.
One
morning, as the water bearer stooped to fill both pots at the stream, the
cracked pot could no longer hold back its sorrow.
“I need
to tell you something,” it said in a trembling voice. “I’m ashamed. Every day I
fail you. I lose half of what I’m supposed to carry. I know how hard you work,
and I can’t help but feel like I’m wasting your effort.”
The water
bearer paused, his weathered hands cupping water from the stream. He looked at
the pot, not with irritation, but with the softness of understanding.
“Let me
show you something,” he said gently. “As we walk back today, look closely at
the path.”
So the
cracked pot did.
As they
moved along the dusty trail toward the master’s home, sunlight filtered through
the trees and touched a ribbon of wildflowers blooming vibrantly on one side of
the road—the cracked pot’s side. Yellow marigolds, purple lupines, tiny daisies
danced in the breeze, brushing the pot’s worn sides with delicate petals.
When they
reached the house, the bearer turned and smiled.
“Did you
notice the flowers?” he asked.
The pot
nodded quietly.
“I always
knew you leaked,” the water bearer continued. “And so I planted seeds along
your side of the path. For the past two years, you’ve watered them every day
without even realizing it. Because of your flaw, the master’s table has been
filled with color and joy. Without you, this path would be barren, and the
house would lack its beauty.”
We live
in a world that often values perfection—sharp edges, straight lines, flawless
performance. But this story reminds us that even our cracks, even the parts of
us that feel broken or inadequate, can be the very channels through which
goodness flows into the world.
Each of
us, in our own quiet way, leaves beauty behind. Even when we feel like we’re
not enough, we may be doing more good than we know.
So here’s
to the cracked pots—flawed, human, and deeply valuable.
Let us be proud of our imperfect selves. Because in our imperfections, we often give the world its most unexpected gifts.
___________
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