THE BROKEN PITCHER

 

THE BROKEN PITCHER

A pitcher stood by the well so dry,  

Its purpose firm, its frame held high.  

It carried water, cool and sweet,  

For weary hands and tired feet.  

But time and toil wore cracks so thin,  

Till one last drop could not stay in.  

A sudden slip—a crash, a sigh—  

Its shattered pieces scattered nigh.  

"Oh, Lord," it mourned, "I'm torn, undone!  

My work is past, my strength is gone."  

But soft the Master's voice replied,  

As gentle hands the fragments pried:  

"Dear child, I know your grief, your pain,  

But brokenness is not the end.  

I take the pieces, small and weak,  

And mold them where My grace will speak."  

For in His hands, the fragments shine,  

Rebuilt with mercy, love divine.  

No crack too deep, no break too wide,  

For He who heals and fills inside.  

So if you feel your strength is spent,  

Your heart is bruised, your joy is rent,  

Remember—God makes all things new,  

His strength is proved in vessels broke through.  

Rise up, dear soul, though torn you be,  

For Christ restores—and you’ll see:  

The cracks but let His light pour through,  

A vessel shaped for glory anew.

The Apostle of Joy 

© August 7th, 2025