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This posting is a bit off topic and longer than usual. I feel compelled to share with you an experience I had on a recent camping trip, along with a related story.

A few weeks ago I went on a wonderful hiking/camping trip to Havasu Canyon in Arizona. This was my 6th trip with a group from Tucson to the home of the Havasupai tribe. The reservation is west of the Grand Canyon national park on the south side. Havasupai literally means “People of the blue-green water”. Close to their village is a beautiful river with water falls, shimmering pools, and travertine formations.

There are no roads to the village. The only way to get there is on foot, horse, donkey, or a helicopter. Even the mail is delivered by donkey (a postal worker is involved, as well). We carry a day pack and hire horses to carry our big packs to the campground.

After a 5 hour descent in hot and dry desert, we hear a faint rumbling off in the distance. The air starts to feel different; there is humidity in the air. Could that be water!? We turn a corner to see… a Garden of Eden in the desert.

Havasu Falls, one of the most photographed waterfalls in the world, plunges 100 feet into a pool of clear turquoise water. After admiring the beauty for a short while, we pick a camping spot very near there right on the river  in the narrow canyon.

Over the next 3 days we hike to other sites such as 200 foot Mooney Falls after climbing down a narrow ledge with chains and ladders. It can get very hot, but the trail winds back and forth across the river so we’re often in the water. Beaver falls, a series of cascades where we swim in the most refreshing water after a 3 hour hike, is our farthest destination. A few years ago, I even hiked an additional 5 miles to the Colorado river, a treat as you watch in wonder the confluence of the turquoise water with the Colorado’s murky brown.

While I was there I remembered an experience I had the previous year. Mark and I were returning to our campsite from the spring with our filled water containers. These are 5-gallon plastic containers which are very awkward to carry. We traded off carrying the water to our campsite. One of the times I gave the container to Mark I noticed that the top had come loose and we had left a line of water behind us on the side of the trail. I would have been angry about the waste of our time and energy if I hadn’t fondly recalled the story below.

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on the end of a pole, which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots of water to his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”

“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”

“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.

The water bearer said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wildflowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.

(No known title or author)

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We’re all cracked pots (or “crack pots”). If you will allow it, your “flaws” can be transformed into simply another attribute describing who you are. In this perspective, nothing goes to waste, and everything has its reason for being and serves us in some way.

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