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The Broken Pot

  • The Broken Pot

    By God & Leslie

    Jeremiah 18:4

    And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.

    Once upon a time, as all good stories begin, lived a clay pot. Not just any pot, but a clay pot that had lip like spouts on all sides. One here, two there, but they encompassed the pot. It was a good size pot, standing tall, and very well made. It stood out from other pots; there was just something about that pot. One day, while beaming in the sun of the garden shop, a woman was eyeing the pots that were in this beautiful garden place. She picked up a few, turned a few on their side, looked for flaws and then, the sun shined with beams of light onto this one pot and she looked right at me. I was so excited she saw me. She tilted me, turned me over, looked at my little lip like spouts and I heard her say, “This is the perfect Pot”. She gently picked me up, and I heard a little groan, and she said, “My, My, little pot, you are a little on the heavy side”, and I had to giggle to myself. I overheard her talking to herself as she took me to the front office to pay for me. She rambled as to what to put in to my pot, what colors to use, which plants would work well together and where she would put me after I was filled . She asked the man at the office what he would recommend and he rattled off some plants that do extremely well in these kinds of pots. I was made of clay, I was porous, so when I would get wet I would hold water for a short time, then the water would seep through the dirt and the clay. So what ever went inside of my pot, had to be drought resistant.

    They had to be sturdy plants to live inside of my pot. She asked the sales man to show her some plants if he had the time, he was glad to oblige her. He showed her all kinds of lovely plants, I saw her eyes get real big and could see myself dressed in these finely, but the man told her those plants were not made for this pot.

    He recommended; succulent plants, he said;

    Hens and chicks are hearty and an excellent plant for a new or beginning gardener. Most can handle temperatures down to -5 Fahrenheit, and can be used as a houseplant, outdoor plant in a pot or can be used as an outdoor ground cover.

    Hens and Chicks are shaped like an artichoke with rosettes that vary in size and color, depending on the species they can be bright red, grey and purple, or green. Being they are succulent plants they have high light and low water requirements, since they are able to store water in their leaves.

    You can find them as big as 12 inches around and as small as 2 inches at full maturity. Some are 'bearded' with fine or down like hairs and some will appear to be covered in spider webs, depending on what kind of Hens and Chicks you have.

    They reproduce via branches or offshoots. As the rosette grows, it puts out shoots or stems, if these shoots get long enough to find soil, they will root and create new rosettes. The first rosette is the "hen", the stems or shoots are the "chicks".

    She was happy with his choice for my pot; she bought several plants one for each lip/spout on my pot. She also purchased some real good soil to give her new plants a good start. She strapped me in to the backseat of her car so I would not roll around and she put the plants on floor and she drove us home. She had turned on the radio in her car, and this sweet angelic music played and she began to sing with this song. This song had touched her heart and unbeknownst to me at the time, it touched me in some way too. It was a very pleasant day my new master purchased me. The sun was shining, the air was warm, the birds were singing, and the sky was blue with a few white puffy clouds. She drove what seemed like a long time. Then the vehicle came to a stop. She began to take us out of the car and placed us on a side table. She talked to us as if we were alive. The plants and I, the pot, all became part of her conversation and we just listened as she hummed the song we just had heard. She gently opened the bag of soil and filled it to my first opening. Then she put the first hen in the dirt. She made her way around my pot, gently layering the soil, humming, and planting as she went along. When she got to the top, she put the rest of the hens in and stepped back to see how we looked. I could see her grin as I looked upon her face, and I could feel in my pot the dirt starting to settle, and could feel the roots of the hens testing out there new surroundings.

    Mary, whom I gave her that name for I never heard her name called, took extra care of us. She placed us in a place she could see whenever she was outside. It was pleasing to her, to us and we thrived under her care. Over time, Mary grew older; she would still tend to us, but not as frequently. Then one day, we noticed we did not see her at all. Days passed, no Mary, no one came to check on us. It was getting cold now, and my little hens and chickens were beginning to die and I was helpless to help them. When it rained, I strained my little lip/pockets as far as I could to collect some rain, but it was not enough to sustain life. Soon the winds blew me over, I was so dry inside that the soil inside of me that was once vibrant and full of life, was lifeless before me. When I fell over, I felt something crack. I was now on my side, and I could feel my life essence begin to drain out of me. All the life and love that had been poured into me was slowly leaving.

    One day, the neighbor was in the yard, just cleaning up a few things and saw me lying on my side. He picked me up and placed me between the buildings in the corner. I was in a V shaped area, safe from the wind. I still had a little dirt at the bottom, but I was now very dirty with just one little hen inside of me, barely hanging on, but hanging on none the less. I was grateful to be upright again, but I was now in the coolness of the shade, not in the warmth of the sun. I thought, “I will be forgotten here”.

    I heard voices one cool afternoon, and I strained my eyes to see who was there. Children, walking home from school being mischievous. All of a sudden something hit me, and hit me hard. Then I heard the children laugh. They had taken a stone and threw it at me as a target and cracked part of me into pieces. A large chunk of cracked clay lay at the side of my pot. And I could feel the hen inside of me, weep.

    Fall has come, frost falls at ease in the night, and all that lights my way is a slight stream from a nearby street light. It is so cold in this place, it is so dark, so heavy, no life, it’s hard to breath here and the hen inside of me is dying.

    I do my best to shield her from the cold, wrapping what soil I had left around her as I tried to shift my weight away from the open wind. I wobbled a bit, just was able to move a fraction of where I was. I remember something that Mary used to do when she was out taking care of us, I often wondered, but never had reason to try this. Mary would pray, she would talk to an unseen figure, which she addressed as God. She would pray for others, she would pray for the seasons, she would pray over her plants. She would pray over us, and sing to us that song she sang the day she brought us home from the garden store.

    Thus, in the quietness of the night, I began to pray.” Father in the most high heaven, I can’t see you, but I am aware of your existence. I can see the stars way up high in the sky and I can feel your presence. You know my life, you know where I came from, you know how Mary chose me and our little hens, you know what tune she hummed and the prayers she prayed. My life is almost gone, I am broken in so many places, I am beyond repair, but there is a little life I hide inside, sheltering it from the cold. And I feel her weep as she takes her last few breaths. If you can hear me, please don’t let her die, she is so young with lots of life left to give if you’ll only but save her. Please reach out your hand and re-plant her somewhere where she can continue to grow and bask in your sunshine. Amen (as Mary would have said)”

    This little Light of Mine, I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine; the tune that Mary hummed each day she took care of us. I hummed that tune as I closed my eyes as I felt like it would be my last night in this place. I held tight to my little hen, letting her know I’d keep her as safe as I can, and she thanked me for caring for her. In the bitterness of the evening we fell asleep.

    Morning came, but it was different somehow. The sun had made its way to my pot, and it shown right on my little hen. We both felt the warmth and basked in it joyfully. We heard a rustling noise, and as I looked out, I saw the neighbor, the man who had picked us up out of Mary’s yard and put us in this corner to be safe. As he approached, I heard him say, “Oh My”, my little pot, I see that you have run into some trouble. No worries, I know how you can be fixed. He scooped me up, found all my broken pieces, and straightened up the little hen inside of me and carried us across the yard. What? What was I hearing, he was humming something, I know that tune, he sang out, “This little Light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. How could this be? He knew Mary’s song! I nestled into his arms, knowing we would be taken care of. He carried us across Mary’s lawn, and into his yard, then into a garden shed type building. I saw pots, lots of clay pots lying around. I saw them on shelf’s, I saw them in flower beds, they were everywhere. And I saw many other hens, and there chicks living in some of the other pots I saw. This man would take care of us, I just knew it.

    He opened the door to this shed, and the warmth that came from this place took the chill off my pot, and my little hen sighed in relief. He took us over to a table where he carefully put us down on a shelf. He took out another pot, and filled it with some warm soil, he then took the little hen out of my pot and put it into this new pot. He then took some of my soil and mixed mine with the new, and he gave the little hen a drink of water. I heard her whimper in delight. She was going to live and I was so happy.

    He then turned to me and looked me over, he held up the broken pieces, and I heard him say “HUMM“. I thought to myself, I can’t be repaired, I am to far broken. Then the man said to me “Little pot who said you were far to broken? I thought to myself, did he hear me say that? The man said, “Yes” little Pot, I heard you. My name is Jesus, I am the potter who made you. I know all about you.

    I will show you, you have a stamp on the very bottom of your pot.


    It is my personal stamp, so no matter where you travel to, I know that you were created by me, and for me. Did you ever wonder why, in the Garden shop that day, that you shined so brightly when Mary was looking at you? Mary was dying, and she needed to feel loved that day, so I made you shine brightly so she would choose you over all the others. In choosing you, she chose me.

    ‘Little Pot”, when you prayed for the little hen you sheltered inside of you, I heard your unselfish request. “Little Pot, I needed you to believe in ME too, that is why I came looking for you.


    No one but you and I will know they are there, and you will live in my garden forever

    I will name your little Hen Mary, and she will bring forth little chicks, and they will live with you for the rest of your days.



    Jeremiah 18:1-6

    The word which came to Jeremiah from the Lord, saying,Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying,O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? Saith the Lord. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.


    I have been longing for the potter to return to me, HIS creation, pick up the pieces and remold those pieces inside of me that that are cracked and broken in many places. I long to be repainted with that restorative beauty that only an artist can display on his own masterpiece. I want to be useable again, that I may hold the life giving waters to bring refreshment to others who are parched and broken on this journey. Even if it only means the birds drink from me to sustain their life. Each crack, each hurt, each stone that has been thrown at me as left a scar. I feel like a patched worked quilt, yet, when I step back, I see the beauty in that quilt, and that quilt tells a story. Each of our lives is a story, each molded and shaped by the master potter. His hands are strong and HE holds us securely in his grip. He knows the shape we are in, he knows the dings, the nicks, and the cracks that life has put us through, yet, He knows, HE can remold us at anytime for HIS glory.

    Isaiah 64:8

    But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter;

    and we all are the work of thy hand.

    Will you rest in HIS strong hands today? Will you allow HIM to remold you into that which HE longs for you to be? Will you entrust your life to HIM today?


    This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, let is shine, let it shine ! 


    Always My Love For You,



    October 26,2014

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Social Sharing

  • 0
Dion Todd
Dion Todd You put a lot of work into your writing Leslie  :)
March 10, 2015
  • 0
Lissy Verghese
Lissy Verghese Thank you for the post! Loved to read it!
March 24, 2015
  • 1
David and Dianna Wyles
David and Dianna Wyles

Very inspiring story Leslie <3 I loved it! May God shine his light on you and keep you bright for all to see! I can't wait till your book comes out! God bless

July 25, 2016