“Potter’s Son?” I asked, bewildered.
His eyes bore into mine, and once again, I saw it all. The journey across the waves. The pirate. The bullets that pierced through his heart, the feast in my Potter’s land. It was all real… I felt it with faint warmth in my heart…
But why was I back?
Should I not be in my Potter’s land now, making up for the times that I was away from Him? Pleasing Him… Making Him proud of me… His pot, the work of His hand…
Was I not worth it? Did my Maker realize that I’m better dumped here in this alien land with a beggar for company?
But I thought I’m His child… I heard Him say that He loves me..
The Potter’s Son gently released the trembling beggar and lifted me from where I was. He walked me back to the marketplace, where the riot that the beggar made was all but forgotten and the people were back to minding their own lives.
“What do you think of this land, dear pot?” He asked as we continued to squeeze our way out.
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“And why is that?”
“No one cares about me here. Here, I am no one… and I feel so lost. ”
“So my dear friend, if things were different, if you are the most recognized pot of this land, would you have liked it here?”
“I guess so…”
He stopped walking. “Tell me what you think of that pot over there.” He said.
“It’s a flower vase.” I answered, stating the obvious.
He lifted me above his head to have a better view of the vase. “I want you to look closely my friend… what else can you see?”
“Well… It holds lots of flowers. The flowers are beautiful.. Roses, Tulips, the leaves are a very healthy shade green… everyone seems to love the vase, they’re all asking for its price..” and as I continued to voice my thoughts, there was only one thing in my heart – envy.
“My friend, you’re looking at the flowers. I want you to look at the vase. Look at the pot, and tell me what you see.”
“Okay, the vase is white, with golden ornamental strokes. Beautiful. It’s perfect. Even if you remove the paint, it would still look beautiful…”
“I agree,” He nodded. “Do you think this pot is one of my Father’s creations?”
“Could be… but no, I don’t think so.”
“And why is that? I just heard you say the vase was perfect.”
“Yes, that’s the very reason why… the most skillful Potter only makes cracked pots. Not perfect ones…” And there it was again. The envy was becoming unbearable that I wished the Potter’s Son would take my eyes off that vase.
He just laughed. At my pain.
“Have you looked in the mirror?” He asked.
Still holding me above His head, He walked to the stall of mirrors opposite the flower shop. He stood in front of the tallest mirror and spoke. “Show me your crack.”
I looked at my reflection and was taken aback. The spot where my huge crack was supposed to be was gone, not leaving even a single trace.
“You are not a cracked pot anymore, my friend, so do not live as if you’re cracked.” He told me, and I was lost for words. “I’m telling you, I know that flower vase very well, and I know what she has been, and still going through. She was once a cracked pot, like you, but in time she learned to live the life that the Potter wants her to have.”
“How?” I asked, still looking at the mirror.
“She walked with Me.” He told me and winked.
Back in His arms, we walked back to the street where we left the beggar, who was already sleeping, curled under a dirty garbage sack. The Potter’s Son brought me back down while saying these words:
“Are you willing to walk with me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then carry your beggar, and follow me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding what He just said, but He’s already gone.