Don’t
worry and ask yourselves, “Will we have anything to eat? Will we have anything
to drink? Will we have any clothes to wear?” Only people who don’t know God are
always worrying about such things. Your Father in heaven knows that you need
all of these. But more than anything else put God’s work first and do what he
wants. Then the other things will be yours as well. Don’t worry about
tomorrow. It will take care of itself. You have enough to worry about today.
(Matthew
6:31-34)
Would you buy a house if you were allowed to
see only one room? Or would you pass judgment on a book after reading only one
paragraph? Neither would I, because good judgment requires a broad picture. Not
only is that true in purchasing houses or books, but it’s also true in evaluating life. For
instance, one failure doesn’t make a person a failure any more than one achievement
makes a person a success. “The end of the matter is better than its beginning,”
wrote Solomon. (Ecclesiastes 7:8) “Be … patient in affliction,” echoed the
apostle Paul. (Romans 12:12) “Don’t judge a phrase by one word,” said the
woodcutter. Here’s the story.
Once upon a time, there was an old man who
lived in a tiny village. Although extremely poor, he was the envy of every
villager because he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted the
man’s treasure because a horse like this had never been seen before — such was the
horse’s splendor; its majesty; its strength. People offered unbelievable prices
for the horse, but the old man always refused to sell. “This horse is not a
horse to me,” he told them. “It’s a person. How can you sell a person? He’s a
friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” Granted, the man was very
poor and the temptation to sell the horse was enormous, but he never sold the
horse.
One morning the horse was found missing from
the stable. All the villagers came out to see the old man. “You old fool,” they
mocked him. “We told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you
that you’d be robbed. You’re dirt poor. How could you have ever hoped to protect
such an incredibly valuable animal? It would have been better if you had sold
him. You could have received whatever price you wanted. No amount of money would
have been too high. Now, the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with
misfortune.” The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the
horse is not in the stable. That’s all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve
been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?” The people scolded
the old man. “Don’t make us out to be fools, old man. We may not be
philosophers, but great philosophy isn’t what’s needed here. The simple fact
that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that
the stable’s empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it’s a
curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say
what will come next?” But the people of the village ridiculed him once more.
They thought the old guy was crazy. They’d always thought he was a fool because
if he wasn’t crazy or foolish, he would’ve sold the horse and lived off the money.
Instead, he was a poor woodcutter – an old man still cutting firewood and dragging
it out of the forest to sell to the villagers – his hecklers. He lived hand to
mouth in the grip of miserable poverty. Now he’d proven beyond all doubt that
he was, in fact, a fool.
After a few days, however, the horse returned;
the horse hadn’t been stolen after all. He’d simply run away into the forest. And
not only had he returned, but he’d brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again,
the villagers went out to the woodcutter’s place and spoke with the old man.
“Old man, you were right, and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was,
instead, a blessing. Please forgive us.” The man responded, “Once again, you’ve
gone too far. Say only that the horse is back. Say only that a dozen horses
returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or
not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you
judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read
only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase? Life is so
vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment.
Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I’m content with what I know,
and I’m not bothered by what I don’t.”
“Maybe the old man’s right,” they said to each
other. So, they said little but deep down inside they knew he was wrong. They
knew it was a blessing – twelve wild horses had returned with one horse! With a
little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for a life’s
fortune. Now it just so happened that the old man had a son, an only son, and the
young man began to break the wild horses. Unfortunately, and after only a few
days’ work, the woodcutter’s son fell off one of the horses and broke both of his
legs. Once again, the villagers surrounded the old man and cast judgment. “You
were right,” they said. “The dozen horses weren’t a blessing; they were a
curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now you have no one to help you. You’re
poorer now than you ever were before.” The old man spoke again. “You people are
obsessed with judging. You can’t go that far. Say only that my son broke his
legs. Who knows if it’s a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a
fragment. Life comes in fragments.”
A few weeks later the country had become engaged
in war against a neighboring country, and all of the young men of the village
were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded
because he was injured. Once again, the people spoke with the old man, this time
crying and screaming because their sons had been taken and there was little
chance that they’d return because the enemy was strong, and the war would be a
losing battle. They’d never see their sons again.
“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God
knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His
legs may be broken, but at least he’s with you. Our sons are gone forever.” The
old man spoke again. “It’s impossible to reason with you. You always draw conclusions.
No one knows. Say only this: your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No
one knows if it’s a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only
God knows.” And the old man was right – only God knows.
We see and hold only a fragment. Life’s
mishaps and calamities are only a page out of a life-sized book. We should be
slow about drawing conclusions. We should reserve judgment on life’s storms
until we know the whole story. I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his
patience since it was just a Portuguese fable, wasn’t it? Or was it. Maybe he
learned it from another woodcutter in Galilee because it was the Carpenter who
said it best: “Do not worry about tomorrow. It will take care of itself.” (Matthew
6:34) But that doesn’t stop us, does it? We worry. And because we worry, we
make lists. Lists are very reassuring. They comfort us. They suggest that the chaos
of the universe can be mastered and tamed, maybe even understood within the confines
of a tidy little column.
To list is to understand, to solve and even to
control. For that reason, we simply can’t resist the urge, particularly at the
end of the year, to spew out lists like Washington, D.C. spews out legislation.
We list the best movies, the best books, the worst dressed, the most used, the
least popular, the most mysterious and the highest paid. We salute the good and
satire the bad. We even sum up the year on lists. And although New Year’s Day probably
ranks at the top of the list of list-producing days, including those notorious New
Year’s Resolutions, the rest of the year is by no means “list-less.”
For instance, your grocery list makes a trip
to the market manageable. Your calendar probably has a “To Do” space where you
organize and number things you’d like to do but probably won’t. Your syllabus
tells you which books to buy. Your itinerary tells you which plane to take, and
your cell phone tells you which numbers to dial. But take heart. If it’s any
consolation, the Bible has its share of lists, too. Moses brought one down from
the mountain. Noah might have used one as he loaded the ark. Jesus gave a list
of principles in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew and Luke listed the
genealogies of Jesus. John listed the splendors of heaven. There are lists of
the gifts of the Spirit. Lists of good fruit and bad. Lists of salutations and
greetings.
So, if you’re going to make a list, make your
list like a lighthouse: immutable; immovable. And candidates for this list only
qualify if they have characteristics like a lighthouse, i.e., they warn you of potential danger; they signal safe harbor; they’re
stronger than the storm; and they shine brightest in the fog. These kinds of lists
contain more than just good ideas, personal preferences or honest opinions. They’re
God-given, time-tested truths that define the way we should navigate our lives.
Observe them and enjoy safe passage; ignore them and you’ll crash into the jagged
rocks of reality. In U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, the magazine of
the Naval Institute, Frank Koch illustrated the importance of obeying these
lighthouse lists.
Two
battleships assigned to the training squadron had been at sea on maneuvers in
heavy weather for several days. I was serving on the lead battleship and was on
watch on the bridge as night fell. The visibility was poor with patchy fog, so
the captain remained on the bridge keeping an eye on all activities. Shortly
after dark, the lookout on the wing reported, “Light, bearing on the starboard bow.”
“Is it steady or moving astern?” the captain called out. The lookout replied,
“Steady, Captain,” which meant we were on a dangerous collision course with
that ship. The captain then called to the signalman, “Signal that ship: ‘We are
on a collision course, advise you change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the
signal, “Advisable for you to change course twenty degrees.” The captain said,
“Send: ‘I’m a captain, change course twenty degrees.’” “I’m a seaman
second-class,” came the reply. “You had better change course twenty degrees.” By
that time the captain was furious. He spat out, “Send: ‘I’m a battleship.
Change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the flashing light, “I’m a
lighthouse.” We changed course.
Smart move. The wise captain shifts the
direction of his craft according to the signal of the lighthouse. And a wise
person does the same. So, here’s a few of the lights we should look for, and
the signals we should heed: Love God more than you fear hell; when no one is
watching, live as if someone is; succeed at home first; don’t spend tomorrow’s
money today; pray twice as much as you worry; listen twice as much as you speak;
only harbor a grudge when God does; it’s wiser to err on the side of generosity
than on the side of scrutiny; God has forgiven you – you’d be wise to do the
same; and when you can’t trace God’s hand, trust his heart.
Here’s a few more: Toot your own horn and the
notes will fall flat; don’t feel guilty because of God’s goodness; the book of
life is lived in chapters – know your page number; never let the important be
the victim of the trivial. And last but not least – live your liturgy.
Approach life like the woodcutter, or like a
voyage on a ship. Be wise and don’t draw hasty conclusions based upon a
fragment. Enjoy the view. Explore the vessel. Make friends with the captain. Even
fish a little. And then use the gangway when you get home.
Grace,
Randy
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