Cracked Pot

Tonight was my first yoga class! It's Vinyasa yoga, which means it's fairly aerobic (about an hour and a half of constant movement). At one point, our instructor said, "You've made it through the difficult part!" and that's when I knew I could do this...even though I am clearly not as limber or in shape as I have been in the past. The BEST part, though, was the very end. As we cooled down, we went into a pose called Shava-asana, which literally means "corpse pose". Essentially, you just lie on your mat with your feet apart and your arms comfortably away from your body. You just lie there with your eyes closed...like you're a corpse. Our instructor turned off the lights, and after we were comfortable, she began reading us this story:

A water bearer had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole, which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, 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 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 to his house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect 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 2 yrs 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. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your 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 bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house!"

At the end of the story, I thought "Thank you, Jesus, for loving a cracked little pot like me."