The soul is like a jar. It’s probably made of clay. God seems to have a thing for clay.
Sometimes you go to someone’s soul jar and it’s empty. You look at the person, and you see the bitterness etched on his face and you roll your eyes. Words spring to mind: small-minded, tiny-hearted, empty soul. No wonder, you think, that this soul jar is empty. He is mean, wicked, horrible and anything poured into that jar would turn into vinegar the moment that it splashed against the sides.
But it doesn’t work like that. The jar is not empty because of bitterness, but rather there is bitterness because the jar is empty.
Let me explain.
I watch a child dancing with breathless joy in the morning, while the world around me shouts “Fire and Fury!” and I think, She doesn’t understand and that’s why she dances. But then God taps me on the shoulder and says, “No, James, she does understand, and that’s why she dances. You may have lost your way for a moment.”
The jar starts full, but a swift kick here and a rough push there and a crack will show, and if we don’t attend to it then the soul starts to leak out. If we don’t watch those chips and fractures then we’ll dry out. It might take years, but it’ll happen.
“And it’s not just your jar, James,” says God. “You know what Fred Craddock says the rule for all big families is, don’t you?”
“Yes, God,” I reply. “The older ones help the younger ones.”
“Good. Now fix your jar, and I can always top it up for you. And when you see someone else in danger of leaking out all over the place, you know what to do, don’t you?”
“Yes, God,” I say. “The older ones help the younger ones.”
How’s your jar?
How about the jars to your left and right?
Don’t just watch the treasure leak out.