It is difficult learning to be patient. In our fast-paced, 24/7 world where time is at such a premium, the practice of patience is not easy for me. And, I am guessing, it is not easy for many who might be reading this, especially when we are facing difficult circumstances.
Max Lucado, is a name many of you will be familiar with. Max is a Churches of Christ minister in the United Stated of America, and has written prolifically over the years – he is a fabled storyteller whom I have found to be so encouraging. One of my favourite Max Lucado stories is about the woodcutter of Brazil. Max recalls that he “met” the woodcutter in Brazil – not in person, but in a story. He was introduced to the woodcutter by a friend who knew that he needed patience in a difficult season in his life. Max writes that he and his wife, “were six months into a five-year stint in Brazil, and I was frustrated. My fascination with Rio de Janeiro had turned into exasperation with words. I couldn’t speak in a culture I didn’t understand.” His Portugese instructor, Maria, would say to him, “Tenha paciência” which, in Portuguese, means “just be patient.” But, more than that, she was a calm voice in a noisy storm, he writes. “With maternal persistence, Maria corrected my pronunciations and helped me to love her homeland. Once, in the midst of a frustrating week of trying to get our goods out of customs (which eventually took three months), she gave me this story as a homework assignment. It helped my attitude far more than it helped my Portuguese.”
Max writes that although the story of the woodcutter is a “simple fable”, it profoundly teaches us that when we want to pass judgement on the evidence or experience of just one painful or disappointing day or season in our lives, we can make very serious mistakes. Here is Max’s unembellished translation of the story of the woodcutter of Brazil.
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before—such was its splendour, its majesty, its strength. People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. ‘This horse is not a horse to me,’ he would tell them. “It is a person. How could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.
One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. “You old fool,” they scoffed, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount 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 is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?” The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?” The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. He lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool. After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”
The man responded, “Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State 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 am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t.” “Maybe the old man is right,” they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, 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 much money. The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.
“You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.” The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.” It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighbouring country. All 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 gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again. “You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Yours son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.” The old man spoke again. “It is impossible to talk 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 is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.”
I love this story. It is simple, yet so very profound. Sometimes, in our impatience and desperation, or our disappointment and hurt at the way life has gone for us, we only have a fragment of the whole story God is writing for us, yet we can so quickly jump to conclusions that discount His grace and providence working behind the scenes. We can judge situations and even our fellow believers so readily which can lead to tears. Nearly every day I need to tenha paciência – to just be patient - because often in the pain and frustration of living, the disappointments and failures, what seems so terrible to me isn’t to God. I see only a fragment. We all do. Life is far too important to discern the whole of it, or where it is going, based on one disappointing fragment. God has something wonderful and good in store for me – and it is more than the fragment I am feeling. Tenha paciência!
Romans 12:12 (NIV)
“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Romans 8:28 (NIV)
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”
Trust that God is writing your bigger, more important story than just the fragment you can see today.
Ps Milton
[Major source: Max Lucado’s devotional BLOG, “Words of Hope & Help”. Story copyright owned by Max Lucado and used with permission. Max Lucado, San Antonio, Texas, United States of America).]