There is the old story of the monk who lived on top of a high mountain. Every day he would walk down with two clay pots across his shoulders. Once at the bottom he would fill both pots and walk back up to his small hut on top of the mountain. On arriving, one of the pots would always be empty.

As often happens in this kind of story, the broken pot complained, “Master, why do you not throw me down the mountain and break me into shards? I am already so broken and useless and you fill me with water every day and every day I am empty by the time you carry me back up the mountain.”

The Master replied, “If you can speak, then you shall also see. Look down the trail, all the way down to the river; one side is barren and rocky and the other is beautiful with wildflowers. Your faults are the reason for those flowers.”

Grateful to be useful, and humbled by its Master’s wisdom, the pot remained silent, now content in its purpose.