The Legend of the Cracked Pot
We all encounter difficulties, problems, and personal hardships in life, that much is a reality. But in the Asian culture, we are not permitted or encouraged to share these struggles due to our family backgrounds.
So we often “suffer in silence” as the shame of our past haunts us to this very day feeling immobilized by fear and self-hatred. This is the typical Asian way of viewing your flaws. But there’s a better way. God’s gift to us is one of redemption, grace, and forgiveness. It’s a love predicated on using everything for his glory despite how tragically flawed or defective we may feel about ourselves or past actions or events.
No matter how worthless, unloved, or unwanted we may feel, I believe God still wants to use us. This Indian parable known as, “The Legend of the Cracked Pot” aptly describes how God can use the mess in our lives and transform into something beautiful.
A water bearer in India had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck and shoulders. 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 two years this was the daily routine, with the water bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, performing perfectly the reason for which it had been made. On the other hand the cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfections, and felt itself a failure since it was only capable of accomplishing half the task it had been made to do. The bitterness grew and the cracked pot finally found the courage to speak to the bearer. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”
“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”
“I have failed to fulfill the purpose for which I was made. I am only capable of delivering half the water, because of the crack in my side. You have to do all this work and you do not get full value for your efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer said to the pot, “Have you noticed the flowers that grow alongside of the path? They are there because I planted seeds, knowing that as we walked back up the path your dripping water would nourish them. I have been able to provide flowers for the master’s table because of the water that you provided the flowers. Without you being just the way you are, there would have been no time to grow the flowers. You have not failed, your flaws have been put to good use.”
-Author unknown
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God had to break me to use me. Call it a shattered dream. Not just an individual dream but the collective dream of three generations. I was the favored first son. I was also the first grandson entrusted to carry forth the honor of the family name in the United States. It was a heavy responsibility but one that inherently came with my birthright. This was never told to me explicitly but even as a boy, I knew the weight of my family’s sacrifice rested upon my shoulders. My grandparents, my parents, my uncles, my aunt, one by one, they all agreed to give up their own hopes and dreams of success in Hong Kong to ensure my success in America.
So they toiled at their jobs. Cooking. Cleaning. Serving food. Whatever it took, they did it. They sacrificed hours, days, years, essentially their livelihood. They struggled financially. They had no money. They had no life outside of work. They had no time. They had no hobbies, no vacations. They had nothing. They had nothing but hope. Hope in me. Hope that their firstborn would deliver. Hope that I would make them proud.
It’s this hope that drove me. When I struggled in school I thought of their sacrifice. When I thought of quitting at work, their hope propelled me. I did not want to disappoint them. I could not disappoint them. I would not disappoint them.
So I succeeded at work. I succeeded in a relationship and got married. They were proud. I was proud.
But this image of success was confronted by the stark reality of two young people with no understanding of true intimacy. Godly intimacy where we could be open, vulnerable, and transparent with each other was replaced by a crippling fear.
My deepest fear was being known. Being known by anyone. Whether it was wife, my family, my friends, my colleagues, I thought if they really knew me, they would leave me. I did not feel loveable. So I gave them what they loved-a guy who was always upbeat, cheerful, entertaining. They would never see the hurt little boy trapped inside a man’s body. A little boy crying out for acceptance. A little boy who craved his mother’s touch. A little boy who yearned to receive his father’s praise. A little boy wanting to just feel wanted.
All these insecurities and fears exploded and swirled inside me when my marriage collapsed ten years ago. The emotions paralyzed me. The gut-wrenching fear of being rejected had been realized. I was tormented beyond belief. I had lost more than a marriage. I had lost the meaning to life because I had lost the honor of my family. The shame of letting down my family, my community, my ancestors; this shame wracked my soul.
At that moment in time, I nearly died from a broken heart. I had cherished a good marriage more than anything else on earth. In my pain, I groped in darkness. I could not see anything. But I began hearing the faint voice of God. God was calling me. In my darkest hour, at my lowest point, I thought I heard the feeble voice of God. It was God’s voice but it was not faint or feeble. I was just deaf. He was yelling and screaming that he still loved me and wanted me. He wanted me!
Slowly I surrendered more and more of my will to him. As I let go of my dysfunctional thoughts and habits, I began healing. Through countless hours of counseling, prayer, and a loving Christian community, God would transform me.
While on the road of recovery from my addictions, I was able to pick up the shards of my shattered dream and hand them to Jesus. He took it, honored it, and redeemed it by planting a new dream in my heart. That dream is now taking other broken or “cracked pots” (i.e. lives destroyed by addictions) and reshaping them into new vessels that honors God.
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