What the Bucket Learned

by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2025

(Jan. 26, 2025) — The old bucket leaned close to the wall, wishing his owner had turned him just a little more on the shelf so that the crack on his side might be hidden. He groaned to himself as the new bucket was placed beside him. The younger turned its rim up at the elder. “Did you see the way I carried my water from the river? Not one drop was lost. It’s a shame you could only bring back half of which you were given. It’s not your fault, I suppose; still, a shame. I wonder that the farmer doesn’t replace you, or leave all the work to me. Perhaps he’s just sentimental. Yes, sentimentality can be the only explanation as to why you’re kept around.”

Just then, the old farmer looked up at the two buckets and seemed to be aware of the conversation that had just taken place. With a smile, he took down the cracked bucket and stepped outside, back down the path from which they had just come. Halfway along, he stopped and sat upon a bench, setting the bucket beside him. “This is it,” thought the vessel, “he’s taking me to be thrown away.” But they only sat, facing a building, with wildflowers growing along the path in front.

In time, children came running out to play (for the building was an orphanage). Then the farmer spoke, “A few years ago, I noticed some flowers along this path were dying. So I chose you to take with me on my trips down to the river. Every day I held you in my right hand, knowing that when I returned home, the crack in your side would release water for those flowers. Look at them, all those colors, and look at the children enjoying them. In my hand your weakness became a strength and a beautiful blessing. Never doubt your worth and what you’re capable of in my hand.”

The bucket stared in disbelief and felt both humble and proud.