Crackpots and Cracked Pots

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I'm a very nutty professor. Some people like that I'm different, but I know that it sets me apart. One of my companions on the river Saturday made some disparaging remarks about how chemists are crackpots, and she was kind of right. We chose chemicals because we're not that good at interacting with people. In truth, we recognize that we have a narrow skill set that we are comfortable exercising and consequently come across as crass and rude because we don't really invest much time into learning the social graces. For many years I have wondered if this would lead ultimately to my ostracism and to eternal bachelorhood because I know my flaws and don't know if there's anyone who really would choose to live with them. I guess time will tell.

One thing that helped is that I came across a story Sunday that gave me some hope. The story is told of a water bearer in India who made daily trips from the stream to his Master's house carrying water in two large pots. One of the pots had a crack in it, and so usually the cracked pot arrived at the house only half full. For years, this went on daily, and the perfect pot proudly performed admirably, but the cracked pot felt ashamed because it was only able to do half as much useful work. Feeling itself a bitter failure, it spoke to the Bearer one day and apologized that the Bearer had to do extra work because of his flaws. The Bearer asked the pot to pay attention to the flowers growing along the path as they walked back to the Master's house. As they went up the hill, sure enough beautiful wildflowers grew along the side of the path. The Bearer pointed out that the flowers only grew on one side of the path because the Bearer always knew about the flaw. Early on, he took advantage of it and planted seeds on that side of the path, which the cracked pot watered daily. For two years, the Bearer had been able to pick the flowers as decorations for the Master's table. Without the cracked pot, there would be no beautiful flowers with which to grace the House.

Recently more than before, I have felt myself a failure, that I sow and dung and nurture to no avail. I feel sometimes like either there is no fruit to harvest or that I can't tell the wheat from the chaff. In some rare cases, I have arrived at the field to find it already cleared either by harvest or fire and found nothing to glean when I arrived. Like the pot, I have felt that I have failed. Like the pot, I realized that God planted seeds along my path for me to water as I passed, knowing that a crackpot chemist was coming, so that as I went by I would water them. Although my life has not turned out how I liked or hoped or imagined, Christ has made, I am sure, of my efforts useful work with which to adorn the Master's table. Indeed we learn in D&C 6 that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but only the work of man. For many years, I have maintained that God's work will be done, that it will be done well, and that it will be done on time, even if He must raise up replacements to take our place. No unhallowed hand can stop the work. For all our hubris and vanity, as well might man put forth his puny arm to stop the mighty Mississippi as to try to stem the work of God. Daniel recorded that he saw the stone cut out of the mountain without hands that rolled forth to fill the entire earth.

I was told that I would be called by inspiration and revelation to where I was needed most. I don't know that God called me to live perpetually alone in my house and attend a congregation where the members largely treat me like a stranger or an ailing pet that's annoying them during family time. I don't know that I was born to be alone all of my life or to never have many close interactions. What I do know is that my circumstances have made me available to do His work and help His children. I tell people frequently when they thank me for my contributions to their lives to thank God, because if my life had turned out as I planned, we might never have met. I would certainly not befriend young ladies and take them on hikes or the river, because I'd be with a specific one whom I took to wife doing things with our family. I would certainly not disappear to hike or kayak or boat every weekend and leave my family alone at home to cope while I gallivanted around with guy pals completing my bucket list. I could name a half dozen or so people for whom I was a positive albeit fleeting influence and who might not have been reached if I were not there in the moment ready and able and willing to do my poor part. Maybe I am a crackpot or a cracked pot, but God knew what path on which I should be drawn so that I could water by the way and bring forth fruit for His table.

God knew that when I was divorced that would break me and keep me from carrying as much water as far as I would like. He knew it would hurt me and make me hesitant and bitter and angry and distant. Accordingly, He planted seeds along my way for me to water as I passed by that after the season of my passing He could harvest the fruit or flowers with which to adorn His table. In His hands I am still a useful and profitable tool because He knows where I will drip and planted accordingly. God knew that I would love chemistry and love teaching but be super awkward. He knew that I would start speaking my mind even when silence would benefit me more. He knew that I would be honest and available and inclined to attempt and called me to do things other people would not in places other people dare not go. Like the cracked pot, Christ has a purpose for this particular crackpot.

Neal A Maxwell wrote in "Deposition of a Disciple" that God gives the picks and shovels to the chosen, not because they are the most capable, but because they are the most available. I resolved many years ago to be available so that God could use me whenever it felt like a good idea. Maybe I'm that cracked pot and drop the ball a lot more than some other pot might, but He also knows that I will drip where He needs water to drop. He knows where you are and what you are doing, and if He brought us together for a season, it's because we are supposed to help one another grow.

This time of year, they'll show the classic movie "It's a Wonderful Life" and for good reason. George Bailey sees something precious in that movie, because he gets to see what impact his mediocre life (according to him) really had on the world. For the most part I don't really know why I do what I do, know what I know, am what I am or go where I go. I trust that there is a reason for things and that they will remain in my life as long as it is wise and good that they do so. I hope some day He shows me what the season of the harvest brought to His table and that I can find peace as the crackpot that I am in knowing that He harvested where I walked and converted my weaknesses into useful work.