“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”—Psalms 23:2
One afternoon I wandered into the arts and crafts room at a conference I was attending. I scooped up a handful of clay, put it on the pottery wheel and began to spin a pot. When I finished, I had produced the most pathetically lopsided pot you can imagine. As I looked at it in disgust, the resident potter appeared. “I think I should just toss this thing in the trash,” I said.
“The first pot I ever made looked just like that, and I hated it,” she said. “But I decided to save it. My lopsided pot reminded me that it’s okay not to be perfect, that it’s even desirable.”
“Huh?”
“Well, think of it,” she said with a wink. “If you’re perfect, you won’t have anyone to relate to. It would be awfully lonely being perfect, don’t you think?”
So you know what I did? I took that silly pot home and put it in my study.
