February 23, 2022
Thought for Today
“The written word, unpublished, can be destroyed, but the
spoken word, can never be recalled.”
Horace, [20 B.C.]
Wednesday, February 23, 2022
Tuesday, February 22, 2022
Monday, February 21, 2022
Sunday, February 20, 2022
February 20, 2022
THE CART
In one of his sermons, “Sin In The Present Tense”, Peter
Marshall tells the following story.
There was once a fellow who, with his father, farmed a
little piece of land.
Several times a year, they’d load up the ox-cart with
vegetables and drive to the nearest city.
Except for their name and the patch of ground, father and
son had little in common.
The old man believed in taking it easy … and the son was
the go-getter type.
One morning they loaded the cart, hitched the ox and set
out.
The young fellow figured that if they kept going all day
and night, they’d get to the market by next morning. He walked alongside the ox and kept prodding
it with a stick.
“Take it easy,” said the old man. “you’ll last longer.”
“If we get to the market ahead of the others,” said his
son, “we have a better chance of getting good prices.”
The old man pulled his hat down over his eyes and went to
sleep on the seat.
Four miles and four hours down the road, they came to a
little house.
“Here’s your uncle’s place,” said the father, waking up.
“Let’s stop in and say hello.”
“We’ve lost an hour already,” complained the go-getter,
“Then, a few minutes more won’t matter,” said his father.
“My brother and I live so close, yet we see each other so seldom.”
The young man fidgeted while the two gentlemen gossiped
away an hour.
On the move again, the father took his turn leading the
ox. By and by, they came to a fork in the
road. The old man directed the ox to the
right. “The left is the shorter way,” said the boy.
“I know it,” said the old man, “but this way is
prettier.”
“Have you no respect for time?” asked the impatient young
man.
“I respect it very
much,” said the old fellow.”
“That’s why I like to use it for looking at pretty
things.”
The right hand path led through woodland and wild
flowers. The young man was so busy watching the sun sink, he didn’t notice how
lovely the sunset was.
Twilight found them in what looked like a big garden.
“Let’s sleep here,” said the old man.
“This is the last trip I take with you,” snapped his son.
“You’re more interested in flowers than
in making money.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said in a long time,”
smiled the old fellow.
A minute later he was asleep.
A little before sunrise the young man shoved his father
awake. They hitched up and went on. A
mile and an hour later they came upon a farmer trying to pull his cart out of a
ditch. “Let’s give him a hand,” said the father.
“And lose more time?” exploded the son.
“Relax,” said the old man.
“You might be in a ditch some time.”
By the time the other cart was back on the road, it was
eight o’clock.
Suddenly a great flash of lightning split the sky.
Then there was great thunder.
Beyond the hills, the heavens grew dark.
“Looks like a big rain in the city,” said the old man.
“If we had been in time, we’d be sold out by now,”
grumbled his son.
“Take it easy,” said the old gentleman, “you’ll last
longer.”
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that they got to the
top of the hill overlooking the town.
They looked down on it for a long time.
Neither of them spoke.
Finally the young man who had been in such a hurry said, “I
see what you mean, father.”
They turned the cart and drove away for what once been the
city of Hiroshima.
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