The Little Voice
Your gift will be your burden until the day you make the decision to follow that little voice that first spoke to you when you were a child. You will learn that people will always be ready to pay you to enable them accomplish their objectives but never yours. Therefore you will forever be a slave because of your fear of doing it on your own. A fear fueled by the threat of sleeping in the cold, hungry, naked and in debt.
You are gifted. A professional at what you do. You work confidently and diligently running your master’s ship but you are still uncertain of your ability to row your own boat. How then can you claim that you feed and clothe yourself? Is it not your master that owns the shirt on your back?
Every evening your master goes happy to bed and thanks the Lord for the blessings bestowed upon him. He smiles because he knows beyond a shadow of doubt that you will show up tomorrow early to till his land. Another step closer to his dream. Deep in his heart he knows that God created all men with an equal chance at happiness. Only some chose the hard road and the rest chose to embrace the warm bosom of mediocrity.
In mediocrity, there are three meals and a warm bath at the end of the day. These good tidings are not for a celebration but to sooth and rejuvenate your aching bones for tomorrows till. In mediocrity there is pride in being called a faithful slave and their is gladness in being trusted by the money lender. A slave; you feel accomplished and respected when the master places you in charge of other slaves.
Your gift will be your burden until the day you make the decision to follow that little voice that first spoke to you when you were a child. Now you have nothing to call your own. Your horse and brick house are the lender’s. A lender in a secret pact with your master to make sure your work to their benefit until your crown is grey. It is how the world works. Your horse will grow feeble and die before you have fully paid for it. Your brick house will crumble before you realize you were never meant to own it. And all the while the master and the lender’s children will be waiting to take the little you have left. Just like the vultures that prey a dying old toothless lion that lacks the strength to fight back.
As you watch the sunset in the squint of your weak eyes, you will always be in deep thought. A mixture of regret and despair. Were you not the slave that new the seasons by heart? Was it not your position to distribute rations to the other slaves? Didn’t the master always say that it is you he trusted the most?
Oh you good slave. Your gift is now your son’s burden because you didn’t follow that little voice that first spoke to you when you were a child.