A master potter once shaped a vessel from the finest clay—formed with care, fired with patience, and sealed with
a glaze that made it strong. When it was finished, he called a young man from the village and placed the vessel
in his hands.
"This is not yours to keep," the potter said. "It is yours to carry. Use it well—for water, for oil, for
whatever good purpose you find. But remember: it belongs to me. One day, I will ask for it back."
At first, the young man treated the vessel with great reverence. He washed it carefully, stored it safely, and
used it only for clean things. But as weeks passed, he grew careless. He left it on the ground overnight. He
used it to carry things it wasn't meant for. He even lent it to friends who handled it roughly.
One day, a crack appeared near the rim. The young man tried to hide it, angling the vessel so the flaw faced
away. But the crack widened. Soon, the vessel leaked whenever it was filled.
Ashamed, the young man brought it back to the potter. "I've ruined it," he said. "I forgot it wasn't mine."
The potter examined the vessel. "You did forget," he said quietly. "But that's not the end." He took the vessel
to his wheel, softened the clay with water, and began to reshape it—not as it was before, but into something
new. "Carry this one differently," he said, handing it back. "Not because you fear me, but because you
understand. It was always mine. And I always intended it for good."