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The Water Jars

AN OLD INDIAN LEGEND tells of a man who carried water to his village every day in two large jars tied to the ends of a wooden pole he balanced on his back.

One of the jars was older than the other and had some small cracks; every time the man covered the distance to his house, half of the water was lost.

FOR TWO YEARS the man made the same journey. The younger jar was always very proud of its performance, safe in the knowledge that it was up to the mission it had been made for, while the other jar was mortified with shame at only fulfilling half of its allotted task, even though it knew those cracks were the result of many years hard work.

It was so ashamed that one day, while the man got ready to fetch water from the well, the jar decided to speak to him. “I want to apologize, but because of the many years of service, you are only able to deliver half of my load, and quench half of the thirst which awaits you at your home.”

The man smiled, and said, “When we return, observe carefully the path.”

And so, it did. And the jar noticed that, on its side, many flowers and plants grew.

SEE HOW NATURE is more lovely on your side?” commented the man. “I always knew you were cracked and decided to make use of this fact. I planted flowers and vegetables, and you have always watered them. I have picked many roses to decorate my house with, I have fed my children with lettuce, cabbage, and onions. If you were not as you are, how could I have done that?”

All of us grow older and start to acquire other qualities. But here’s the thing. If you were not as you are, how could you have done what you have done? And what was true of our past is still true today. We may be slower and ‘small cracks’ are showing. But ‘cracks’ don’t just happen. They are evidence of a purpose-filled life. Each one is a story. Grand-tales with water enough for parched and weary parents and their children who are thirsty for life stories that help them grow.

We can always make the most of each quality we have and obtain a good result.

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