Broken Vessel

I feel like a broken vessel most days and I think a recent Starbucks experience explains it well.

So there I was, standing in line, gazing at nothing really, except the cups in front of me, which seemed to be reaching out to me. I’m not sure why, but the cups seemed to speak to me. I would normally be at Pete’s coffee, I find them to have better coffee than Starbucks, but as you know we do not have Pete’s in Kansas City.

My next moment in line was like something from Harry Potter, a cup in particular reached out and tried to grab my jacket. I could feel it grasping with all it’s might, but it’s short little arm missed and it fell to the floor.

There lay a dark, golden cup. I could see a sad smile on it’s face as if to say, “I tried”. I picked up the cup, which now had a broken arm, and placed it on the counter. The barista looked at me, unsure of my intentions. I was unsure myself. I hadn’t touched the cup, yet I felt responsible for it somehow. I looked at the cup, then looked at the man in front of me. Looking back at the cup said “I guess I’m buying this cup too”.

The cup, now a month later, has been a great companion. In the evenings it holds my tea warm, even though the arm has not been mended. Now, the other evening, it scored my finger something fierce. I’m sure he had the best of intentions, but my finger bled strongly.

This is how I feel like a broken Vessel. I have the greatest intentions. I have a willing heart and am useful for so many things, but I hurt those around me. I could be replaced, but Grace and Mercy have been applied to my account.