The Woodcutter’s Wisdom
by Max Lucado

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 splendor, 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 neighboring 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. Your 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.”

The old man was right. We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a grand book. We must be slow about drawing conclusions. We must reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story.

I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. Perhaps from another woodcutter in Galilee. For it was the Carpenter who said it best:”Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Mt. 6:34)

He should know. He is the Author of our story. And he has already written the final chapter.

From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado

Psalm 39:3

My thoughts grew hot within me and began to burn, igniting a fire of words…

How long does something burn within me before I finally speak?  Usually, too long.  It smolders until I am so frustrated that it comes out as an explosion and I say things that may hurt, even if they’re true.  I struggle with this a lot.  It’s hard for me to say things that are uncomfortable, even though they probably do need to be said.  But when I wait, stewing and going over and over the situation, sometimes my thoughts are clarified and sometimes they are  amplified and I get angry.  God, help me to know the words to say and when to say them and to have the courage to speak out when I know it’s time.

1 Corinthians 1:19-20

As the Scriptures say, “I will destroy human wisdom and discard their most brilliant ideas.”  So where does this leave the philosophers, the scholars, and the world’s brilliant debaters? God has made them all look foolish and has shown their wisdom to be useless nonsense.

It’s amazing what we know because of recent advances in technology and science.  There’s no doubt that it’s answered a lot of questions and shed light on some great mysteries.  But, no matter how much we seem to know, every generation discovers something else that they can’t explain.  I think God’s up there laughing when we think we know so much.  Then He mixes things up just to see our amazement and watch us scramble to try and explain something with science and knowledge that can only be explained by God.

For example, there’s a guy at the church where I lead worship and he’s been legally blind his whole life.  Several weeks ago his eyesight was healed.  He can see perfectly.  No surgery, no contact lenses or glasses.  Perfect vision.  I’d like to see science and human wisdom explain that!

There are a lot of amazing things we’ve discovered and figured out.  Each one reminds me how fascinating God’s imagination is and how vastly huge the depths of Him mind must be.  My knowledge seems like a drop in the bucket in comparison.

Romans 1:22

Claiming to be wise, they became utter fools instead.

This is how I feel some days.  Okay, a lot of days.  I start out thinking I know what I’m doing, and end up feeling like a complete fool because I’m completely lost.    Isn’t this at the crux of a lot of our problems?  Pride.  That’s pretty much what it boils down to.  We laugh in movies when the character thinks he or she knows so much and we know they’re making total fools of themselves (dramatic irony, right?).  And yet, in real life we do the same things… except it’s me in the silly seat.

Right now I’m struggling with a situation where I need to be wise in how I handle things, and I really don’t want to behave foolishly.  Part of me wants to lash out in anger and hurt and frustration.  And part of me knows that this isn’t the right thing to do.  There’s a lot of claiming to be wise from both sides of the table, but an awful lot of foolishness being acted out.

Pride is a difficult thing.  It’s sneaky.  It’s the root of most of my issues.  I see it (usually after the fact *sigh*) subtly infiltrating my life when I least expect it to.  There’s pride in my fear.  There’s pride in my interactions with my children.  There’s pride in my interactions with my husband.  There’s pride in my conflicts.  The frustrating part is there seems to be an underlying current of pride in everything.  So, here’s what I’m thinking.  Pride in God and what God has done through me is not necessarily a bad thing.  He created me with gifts and skills and wants me to use them.  I need to take pride in my work and do a good job.  However, pride in my knowledge or my ability to do things on my own isn’t such a good thing because really, without God’s strength and help I tend to make a helpless mess of things.

I don’t want to play the fool and think I know better than the other people involved in this situation.  God’s given them wisdom, too.  But I also realize that none of us are right about everything, and that goes for them as well.    Pride says to act like I know more than them and be condescending.  And God says, “don’t be a fool about it.”  So, help me God not to be a fool, to remember that all Wisdom is Yours.  And help me to know how you would handle this situation with grace, mercy, and love.