Gloryteller

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I am like
the sealed, plain,
clay jar, that contained
bitter water, which feared
being broken but wished that it
could be broken so that the bad
water would run out, but after it
was inevitably dropped, and when
the inevitable crack opened in its side,
the jar was dismayed that only a part of
the bitters ran out and it sat damaged, thinking
it could never be a whole jar again, and found that
being broken was a far worse thing than it had imagined,
so it wished and wished that it could be an undamaged useful
jar again, even if it had to hold bitter water, when suddenly the
Spirit of Plain Clay heard the longings of the poor jar, found
the crack, entered through it, sealed the crack behind Him,
and changed the bitter water to sweet, clear water, which
He multiplied to fill the jar, after which the jar begged
Him to stay, Spirit said  Forever If You’ll Have Me,
at which point the jar knew brokenness to be a
blessing, for without the crack, the glorious
Spirit of Plain Clay would never have gained
entrance;  I am like that — if clay jars could
fear, could wish, could be dismayed, could
 think, could imagine, could wish, could
beg, and could know, and if there were
a glorious Spirit of Plain Clay —
I AM like that.

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