Susan LaffertyThey hear about this man. News travels fast along trade routes. Rumors fly down country roads.
And suddenly, here he is. Walking into their village.
They stand at a distance. Ten men. Diseased. Desperate in their pain and isolation. Unclean.
“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” They say it loud. Across the divide.
This spring we looked for a car. A reliable used car. It’s been years since our last search. The integrity of the car—and the car salesman—matters. It did then. It does today.
But car-shopping has changed. Now you can shop online and find a fairly detailed history of the vehicle you’re interested in. The number of owners. Where it’s been registered. If it’s been in any accidents or had any recalls.
Are there any dents, scratches, or chipped paint? There’s a “360-degree” visual of the exterior and the interior. Most of the research is accomplished before you ever set eyes on the car or take it out for a drive.
Back in the day, someone could hide a vehicle’s history. Make it look good. Hit all the sales points with conviction. We searched for a trustworthy used car salesman. Wondered if the car was truly as good on the inside as it looked on the outside.
Integrity matters.
I keep it on my desk. This broken piece of a red clay. What remained after the common clay jar fell off the shelf one day. My one semester in pottery class taught me a lot about clay and kilns. And the fragility of earthen vessels. One small pebble could break apart a potter’s masterpiece as it was formed on the wheel or as it baked in the kiln.