A
water bearer in India served his master by toting water from the
stream to his master's home. He carried the water in two pots that
hung on either end of a pole balanced across his shoulders.
One
of the pots had a crack in it; the other pot was perfect. The perfect
pots always delivered a full portion of water from the stream, while
the cracked pot always arrived at the master's house only half full.
For
a full two years this went on, every day the water bearer delivering
one full and one half full measures of water to the master's home.
Naturally, the full pot was proud of his service, perfect to the end
for which it had been made. But the cracked pot was unhappy; ashamed
of its imperfection, miserable that it was only able to accomplish
only half of what it had been made to do.
After
an eternity of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, the cracked
pot spoke to the water bearer one day. “I am so ashamed of myself,”
it said. “I want to apologize to you.”
“But
why?” asked the water bearer.
“For
the past two years,” spoke the pot, “this crack in my side has
let water leak out all the way to the master's house, and I have been
unable to deliver but half my load. You do the work carrying me from
the stream to our master's house each day, but because of my defect,
you don't get full value from your effort,” sighed the anguished
pot."
Kindly,
the water bearer told the distressed pot, “As we return to our
master's house today please notice the lovely flowers along the way.”
As
the trio returned up the hill, the old cracked pot noticed the
winsome wild flowers---the sun glistening off the their bright faces,
the breeze bending their heads. But still, at the end of the trail,
the faulty pot felt bad because it had again leaked out half its
load, and again apologized to the bearer for its failure.
But
the bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that the flowers were
only on your side of the path? Because I have always known about your
'flaw' I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day
while we wind our way back from the stream, you have watered them.
And every day I am able to pick these beautiful flowers to adorn our
master's table. Were you not just the way you are, the master would
not have had this beauty to grace his house.
Willy
McNamara.
Out of “The chicken Soup For The Unsinkable Soul.”
