Journey into Reality
Tossed and Whirled Around
A young entrepreneur (identified merely in this tale as "Y.E.") awakened and startled, only to find him caught up in a whirlwind. Being tossed about and whirled around, suddenly the whole house landed with a thump. "Ooh!" Y.E. gasped at the sudden drop.
Y.E. slowly opened the front door, at first fearfully peeking out through it slightly ajar; a blinding brightness beamed through. Y.E. then opened wide the door, his mouth agape at viewing a brilliant display of colors everywhere, colorful flowers, too, all about blooming. A score of tiny people danced toward the house, singing as in celebration.
"Munchkinland?" Y.E. asked one of those tiny people stepping forward, finely dressed in top hat and tails, a sizeable sheriff-like badge pinned to the lapel; the dancing and singing concluded.
"Welcome to Relativeland!" he said in that Munchkin voice as Y.E. remembered it to be from a movie he had once seen.
"Relativeland?" Y.E. then asked. "Hmm, so you're all Relatives?" Y.E. asked, snickering.
"We are Muchkins," that tiny one said with a bold seriousness, puffing out more of his chest.
"From Relativeland," that tiny Muchkin reiterated. "Take a look all around at all we have here, and our barns and houses to are filled with plenty. And you can have it too, and live on the broadway all your life," he said pointing toward a wide paved yellow brick road. "Hakuna Matata!" he concluded.
"Hakuna Matata?" Y.E. asked.
"No worries, no cares, the rest of our days," that tiny Muchkin answered proudly. "We have all the thrills and frills we could ever want," he said, "And you too. Just take a stroll down that road there," he said gesturing toward that wide yellow brick road. "And then sit back and relax, eat and drink your fill and be merry all your days."
Just then that score of friendly, smiley-faced Muchkins moved toward Y.E. Two stepped near him and stood one on each side of him. Each taking Y.E. by the hand escorted him toward that wide yellow brick road.
But then a voice echoed loudly through Y.E.'s mind; he paused, "You fool, this night your soul is required of you, then what will become of all that stuff you have accumulated and stored up for yourself?"
A step closer, then as if coming out of nowhere, Y.E. spied a red brick road coming into view, intersecting that yellow brick road, yet not as broad or as worn, seemingly not many have traveled down that road. Y.E. stopped again, considering.
"Come on now," the two tiny Muchkins squealed, tugging at Y.E. urging him to continue. "Keep going," they said, "We're almost there."
Tossing and turning, rolling about upon his bed, Y.E. awakened. On the edge of his bed, he sat for a moment, considering it all, "Muchkins? Relativeland?" he said, his head clasped in his hands, his elbows braced upon his knees. "All my stuff," he moaned," I had accumulated, for myself?" A moment's pause, he then said, rising and looking about his tiny studio apartment, realizing, "Uh, what stuff? I have not much, never did have."
"Ah, but what about that project," Y.E. then considered, as if hearing someone whispering in his ear, reminding him of that "business" he had begun.
"That 'business'? Well, nevertheless," Y.E. recalling, "it was an enjoyable endeavor at that, at that time of need. But still, not much ever came from that venture. Nevertheless, and more importantly so, and having then the time for it, not employed in any other way, Y.E. began working at what truly interested him. But still where it was possible for some provision to come from that effort, as yet nothing has been gotten from there.
But whatever the amount it has not been so great a concern to Y.E. As so goes his own weird perhaps economic philosophy, it has never been his goal to make tons of money.
“Hmm,” Y.E. paused, he now seated gazing out the front window, “Not to make tons of money,” that incident reviving afresh in his mind.
“As I expressed to another some years ago,” Y.E. remembered, for some reason, "it has never been my goal to make tons of money.”
Remembering too, for some reason, Y.E. was surprised by that one’s comment to the thought of Y.E.'s goal not being to "make tons of money." That one replying, “Boy, mine sure is.”
In remembrance of it now, Y.E. might have stated it, to quote the probably familiar cliché not to “roll in the dough.”
Preferably, as God continues to show Y.E., the work of Christ’s Kingdom here on planet Earth is to take precedence over—above and beyond—any worldly endeavor. The provision of all his needs he is most blessed in realizing that one condition.
“Ah,” Y.E. recalling, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, “May my one goal/desire in this temporary time, be not to ’roll in dough‘, but always in God’s will to ’roll‘. In whatever is my supplemental vocation, let my primary task be the promotion—the building—of Christ’s Kingdom on Earth, until His return. As Jesus has said, ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive.’”
A Better Alternative
God is my Provider, Y.E. penned in his journal that evening, even more so than what I can do for myself. The primary purpose of this vocational endeavor is to share Jesus. That is my real purpose for being here now in this physical, temporal realm.
In considering then Y.E. scans once again his apartment’s accumulation. "Ah, why do I need all of that dreamy stuff of those Muchkins of Relativeland anyway?” he gestures, “Here and now, I'm content, waiting and trusting the Lord Jesus—walking daily, step by step, with Him along this way. I’m following this 'red brick road,' the way to the land of Absolute, that road few have chosen."
Too, Y.E. realizes that he is not exempt from any frustrating trials, troubles, and tears (ah, those ‘lions and tigers and bears...’) that he may encounter going this way. As Jesus has promised those on that road would face in going His route through this time.
And thus, Y.E., too, responds to such trials, not with an "Oh my!" but a "Be glad!" As the apostle James had written in the Bible, so encourages to "Count it all joy" when facing such trials.
Consider next a similar story Living on the Edge of Narnia.
© 2016 Charles O Newcombe