One step too fast

An elderly man, having lived alone for many years after the passing of his wife, had an epiphany about his life and wanted to flee his farm. Beautiful bushels of the greenest trees adorned every acre of the farm land, bearing fruit in abundance during harvesting season. Cows provided him with ample milk and meat to eat while his foul was plentiful enough to build a balanced diet. He literally had no want. The farmer, however, sat discontent with his possessions. Everyday, the farmer would wake, adorn himself in overalls, and head out to the mailbox, which sat just down the beautiful bricked path extending from his front door steps to the farm gate. He would collect his mail and hurry inside to read the letters from several of his friends, who, in the past months, had begun to  mention excellent opportunities for buying newer, more sophisticated homes in the nearby city - this was fuel to the farmer's need for change. He felt it was time. His wife's death had placed him in a great depression and for this, he wanted to get away. But he wasn't sure that it was his time. Nevertheless, the farmer kept his daily routine and each day he crafted out a plan that would eventually get him to the big city. Finally, one day, looking around at his beautiful home, the farmer thought this was the time and soon he would make preparations to leave. That night, the farmer tossed and turned in his sleep, hearing his wife's voice begging him to cherish those things they had worked so hard to build. The farmer awoke in tears, afraid of what his next steps might be. Nevertheless, his early morning trip to the mailbox reignited his need for change. The farmer decided tomorrow would be the day. He would pack up his essential belongings and head for the city. And that was exactly what he did. 

While in the city, he ran into several individuals, most of low moral fiber who were really hungry for opportunity. All he really wanted was to buy one of those new "lofts" that was described to him by his friends in the mail. The loud noises of the hustle and bustle of individuals rushing off to work mixed with the putrid fumes that cascaded out of every window of every nearby restaurant and business - these all made him nauseous. He wanted nothing more than to return home. After convincing himself that this place was just a minute semblance of a much bigger, more beautiful picture, the farmer headed to a nearby park bench to sit and reflect on his move. It was here, in the solitude of his thoughts did he see the error of his ways. The farmer had imagined glitz and glamour of the city life when in reality he had fallen victim to covetousness. Everything that was painted in his letters were simply that, portraits. His zest for life rested not in the spaces of some fictitious canvas of opportunity, but in the sweet smell of magnolia that caressed the early morning wind. It had always been the little things that he enjoyed. It was in this moment that he realized that he was dishonoring his wife, running away from her memory rather than appreciating the great times he had with her on their beautiful property. 


The man wept, packed his things and headed back to the only place he could ever call home. 


Recently, I feel like I was that man. Simply foolish about wanting what others have but not honoring my own passion for life and the place I call home. Well, I am giving it more thought, praying about it harder. It seems as though I am being pulled into the city like many of my counterparts. The difference for me is that I have work to do while I'm here. I find that its not the decisions that are hard to make but the consequences of them that are hard to live with. Well, guess what? I'm living with mine.