Being retired for some four-and-a-half years now, I must admit that my former managerial prowess at pontificating the value of hard work has grown a bit tarnished due to its lack of use. I no longer exist in a world of deadlines and what little effort I now exert seems to be directed toward avoiding as few confrontations with deadlines as possible. Despite that, this week I find myself face-to-face with several upcoming self-inflicted engagements wherein I must exert some preparatory effort over the coming week. Pondering this reality, I began “psyching” myself up by recalling one of my favorite folktales. Its roots are Spanish, as am I. Perhaps that is why it has stayed in my thoughts over so many years. It’s a wonderful reminder to always be heedful that while God will always be our refuge, He truly helps those who help themselves and, God knows, that good old hard work is often the best way out of any challenging situation or deadline.
One morning, just as the first beams of sunlight were banishing the night sky, two neighboring farmers set out for the market at a nearby town. Their wagons were piled high tomatoes that would ripen quickly in the hot noonday sun, so they pushed their mules steadily all morning. By the time they reached the last but steepest hill over which lay the town market, both poor beasts were exhausted, and strain as they might, neither could reach the hill’s summit. Both wagons were stuck about mid-way and the sun was beating down mercilessly.
“There is nothing else we can do. We must let our mules rest a while,” the first farmer sighed, as he struggled to loosen the mule’s harness. “And come to think of it, I could use a little siesta myself. We’ve been on the road since sunup. I think I’ll lie under this tree and rest for a while too.”
“But we can’t!” his companion exclaimed. “By the time we wake up all of our tomatoes will be ruined.”
“Don’t worry, my friend, God will provide. He always does. Let’s just say a few prayers before we nap.” He then rolled over on his side with a yawn, mumbled a few words and closed his eyes.
The second farmer shook his head at his friend. He then walked to the back of his wagon and, putting his shoulder to the rear, began to shove as hard as he could. He yelled at his mule to pull forward, but to no avail. He pushed until the veins on his neck stood out and looked as if they would burst, and he cursed at the top of his lungs, but his wagon ascended not a foot more up the hill.
Just then the Lord and Saint Peter passed along the road as they sometimes did, for often they walked the earth to look into men’s hearts. The Lord saw the frantic, swearing farmer struggling with his load. He smiled and laid a kind hand on the wheel, and at once the wagon rose to the top of the hill.
The Lord continued onward with Saint Peter at his side. Peter’s gaze was bent downward, as if he were pondering their every step.
“Lord, I just don’t understand,” he said at last. “Why did you help you help that man? Even as we came upon him, we heard him cursing most irreverently. And yet you did not help his friend, who offered his prayer for your help.”
The Lord smiled.
“The man I helped cursed, that’s true, but his words were just words. They came not from his heart. That is just the way he talks to his mule. In his heart, he was thinking fondly of his wife and children and aged parents, who depend upon his labor and need him to return home with some profit for his toil. He would have stood there pushing all day. His friend, on the other hand, calls on me only when he believes he needs me. Now while praying with his lips, what he was really thinking about in his heart was how much he wanted to sleep. So I shall let him have his nap.”
In the desert they gave way to their cravings,
tempted God in the wasteland.
So, he gave them what they asked
and sent among them a wasting disease. – Psalms, 106: 14-15
Have an AWE-full Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque