here i sit and I think to myself ( what a wonderful world just popped into mind at the words I think to myself cross the screen.) A memory of mine a child of about 4 takes me to a purple thistle flower towering over the height of my standing by at least a foot, with only bare hands I try to pull and break the grip of the roots and win the battle of the pain of the thorns digging in my hands. I had no idea of the reason I wouldnt ask ,or even begin to question why I was told to do so, I just did over and over I pulled these purple flowered thistle plants. I felt accomplished and very awarded as I learned not to grab above the first set of leaves as the thorns were more matured above there and they would dig deeply into the flesh of my hand. I was doing a great thing that My father had asked of me, without complaint or whining I worked and found that as I pulled one there then would be another, the more I piled up the more there would be to pull. I pulled and pulled there seemed to be no end , but as determined as I was to do what needed to be done the more I wondered on what the reason of pulling them would be. (there had to be some great reason I have been given such a chore). As the time went on the pile, became piles, and as I continued pulling the thistles dragging them up the hill, I started to wonder if am I to pull them all or is there a point I should stop?. I knew better then to stop tho with out being told to do so, so I continued to pull the purple pain in the purple flower thistle. looking at a never ending field of these now not so wonderful thistles ,that i could see went all the way to the never ending other side of the where I knew I sure did not want to have to get to. Finally after what seemed like forever My father stepped out of the house and I thought for sure I would be so greatly prized for my wonderful ability to achieve such great accomplishment without having to be told more than once or fuk anything up. He looked at me and said well its a hell of a thing the purple flower at the top of that thistle bush looks like it has a hell of a way to make its point He then gave me the greatest gift he had ever given me up till that point of my life leather gloves! that was a great feeling even tho I knew I was not done pulling the thistles. hmm..? wtf is the moral or point of the story? not sure there ever was one beside the lesson of the work in the field may have to be taking in stride, and remember there is always a better way to look at the small thing so simple in mind it might be a great conquest and never be rewarded with any thing other then the self accomplishment of the things we get to remember when we are older. Brian Johnson
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 07:46:56 +0000
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