They were all bent over.
Tilling strenuously with hoes and shovels.
And sharing peals of laughter.
As they dug the rich harvest from the fecundite field.
“A substantial portion of the harvest is shared amongst indigent members of our church“. The lad informed me, as he led me to the cleric at the barn.
And I saw them, as we walked across the field; two conspicuous stones marked with those striking words, denoting both an exhortation and a prayer.
“May we always strive to create joy and goodwill out of the evil circumstances that may befall us.”
The cleric received me genially, and led me to his office to take delivery of the supplies.
On the way, I mentioned the stones to him.
“Yes, that“. His countenance changed. “The field was an inheritance bequeathed by Old Papa Isaac to his three sons, on his deathbed. They farmed it in peace until a telecom company came along with a tempting offer to purchase it. This led to an argument between the two elder sons, which degenerated to a bloody feud.
Brother fought brother.
And the child of the eldest was mistakenly killed by the second son.
And in a fit of rage, the eldest swore and exacted vengeance on the second son.
And he eventually took his life in remorse, ending the feud on a doleful note.“
He paused for some seconds.
“The land was eventually passed on to our church by the third son. We vowed to change the story of the fields to a positive one, and the stones stand as a constant reminder of that promise.”
The lad led me away after I handed over the supplies to the cleric.
I asked about the whereabouts of the third son.
“You’ve aready met him“. the lad said. “He’s the cleric“.
I stopped briefly in my tracks, fully stirred by this epiphany.
“Oh, I see..”
As I drove away, I pondered on the many tales told by the bountiful fields;
Of consuming hatred shared between two brothers,
Of fraternal love shared among the brethren,
Of a brother who made the difference,
And of two stones that told the stories….
I learn lessons and I tell stories