I have been reading Dr. Wess Stafford’s book entitled Too Small to Ignore, and have had some interesting reflections. Wess Stafford is the President of Compassion International. The book is written to inspire every single one of us to care for the young ones of this world – the poverty stricken, disease carrying, hurt and uncared for children in this world. As one reads, however, one learns that there is much additional wisdom to soak up and apply to a variety of aspects of day-to-day life. What has struck me was one chapter regarding time, and while I am absolutely sure that I will need to get permission to post this online, I have not (yet), so read (and read quickly) as this might be pulled down as fast as I put it up. In the meantime, I will try to get permission.
The context: A small village in Nielle, Africa. The chief of the Senufo tribe has gathered everyone around the fire at night to tell them a very important thing, regarding a visit of Frenchmen to their village earlier in the day. This actually happened, by the way. The passage (with some highlights by yours truly, and some light snipping here and there) goes like this…
“I want to talk to the children tonight”, he (the chief) began, looking from child to child. “The day is coming when I will be gone. One of you will be chief then. It’s a time they call la venir – the coming, the future. There is much we do not and cannot know about that time. We are all curious about it, but it really cannot be known. The Frenchmen who came to Nielle today do not understand that. They asked me many question about the future – as if it could be known! When I told them we don’t known what will be in the future, they became very angry. And so did I. I am sorry you saw me like that. It is not how we should be. It bothered and saddened me to be angry.”
“They went away angry too, but I think they are often like that. Worrying about the future can do that to you.” He took another deep breath and then continued. “We are not like them. To them, time is everything. Did you see those silver circles on their wrists? Those things measure the day into very little pieces. I have seen such things on the walls in Abidjan, too. Frenchmen think that counting time is very important.” Then came a profound statement. “The smaller that men can measure the day, the more angry they seem to be,” he said with a shake of his head. “For the Senufo, the movement of the sun is as much measurement of the passage of time as we need. We know when to get up. We know when to work the fields and when to hunt. We know when to rest in the shade. We known when to go home. We know when to sleep. Children, it is enough!”
“Time is like a river,” he continued. “It flows along like water, from the future to the present and into the past. But there is a bend in the river. We know the water is coming, but we can’t see it or know very much about it. All we know is that it is coming. The present is now – the days we live today. This is God’s gift to us. It is meant to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. The present will flow by us, of course, and become the past. That is the way of a river, and that is the way of time. The Frenchmen cannot wait for the future to arrive. They crane their necks to see around the bend in the river. They cannot see it any better than we can, but they try and try. For some reason, it is very important for them to know what is coming toward them. They want to know it so badly that they have no respect for the river itself. They thrash their way out into the present in order to see more around the bend. They stand n the middle of the river, facing upstream,” he continued, “and though the river swirls dangerously around their knees and nearly topples them, they don’t care. To them, it seems that the present is only a vantage point to better see around the bend to the future. They miss so much of the joy of today all around them. They miss much of the present time, because all they care about is the unknowable, the future.”
“Because they strain to see around the bend in the river, the present nearly knocks them down as it swirls around their knees. It slips behind them and keeps flowing. It becomes the past without their even noticing. The past, for them, is forgotten. The memories fade, and they make the same mistakes all over again. That is why their questions made no sense today. Children, we are not like them!”
An excitement seemed to quicken his countenance as he looked around the fire ring. “We also see the passage of time like a river, but we respect the river! We know (the bend) is coming, and although we don’t know all about it, God does. We can trust him with the future. The present is all we can fully know and experience, so we must. We must love each other. We must smell the hibiscus flowers. We must hear the singing of the weaverbirds and the grunts of the lions. We must taste with joy the honey and the peanut sauce on the rice. We must laugh and cry and live.” Suddenly he grew sober again, the twinkle gone from his eyes. We knew from his cadence that something very important was about to be said. “Children,” he continued, with tears glistening in his eyes, “do not forget the past! It is just as much a part of the river as the future and the present. I will be there one day… and someday, a long time from now, so will you. You must remember what you have seen and heard and learned. You must tell the stories of today to the younger ones, your sons and daughters, when it becomes yesterday, the past.”
“Although the future is not known to us, it is known to God and only to God. He holds it in his hands. You don’t need to worry about it; it will come. God will take care of it. All we can see and feel is the present. All we can remember and honor is the past. It is enough, my children.” In the gathering darkness, there were nods of agreement all across the courtyard. We knew the chief had spoken wisdom that night.
The context: A small village in Nielle, Africa. The chief of the Senufo tribe has gathered everyone around the fire at night to tell them a very important thing, regarding a visit of Frenchmen to their village earlier in the day. This actually happened, by the way. The passage (with some highlights by yours truly, and some light snipping here and there) goes like this…
“I want to talk to the children tonight”, he (the chief) began, looking from child to child. “The day is coming when I will be gone. One of you will be chief then. It’s a time they call la venir – the coming, the future. There is much we do not and cannot know about that time. We are all curious about it, but it really cannot be known. The Frenchmen who came to Nielle today do not understand that. They asked me many question about the future – as if it could be known! When I told them we don’t known what will be in the future, they became very angry. And so did I. I am sorry you saw me like that. It is not how we should be. It bothered and saddened me to be angry.”
“They went away angry too, but I think they are often like that. Worrying about the future can do that to you.” He took another deep breath and then continued. “We are not like them. To them, time is everything. Did you see those silver circles on their wrists? Those things measure the day into very little pieces. I have seen such things on the walls in Abidjan, too. Frenchmen think that counting time is very important.” Then came a profound statement. “The smaller that men can measure the day, the more angry they seem to be,” he said with a shake of his head. “For the Senufo, the movement of the sun is as much measurement of the passage of time as we need. We know when to get up. We know when to work the fields and when to hunt. We know when to rest in the shade. We known when to go home. We know when to sleep. Children, it is enough!”
“Time is like a river,” he continued. “It flows along like water, from the future to the present and into the past. But there is a bend in the river. We know the water is coming, but we can’t see it or know very much about it. All we know is that it is coming. The present is now – the days we live today. This is God’s gift to us. It is meant to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. The present will flow by us, of course, and become the past. That is the way of a river, and that is the way of time. The Frenchmen cannot wait for the future to arrive. They crane their necks to see around the bend in the river. They cannot see it any better than we can, but they try and try. For some reason, it is very important for them to know what is coming toward them. They want to know it so badly that they have no respect for the river itself. They thrash their way out into the present in order to see more around the bend. They stand n the middle of the river, facing upstream,” he continued, “and though the river swirls dangerously around their knees and nearly topples them, they don’t care. To them, it seems that the present is only a vantage point to better see around the bend to the future. They miss so much of the joy of today all around them. They miss much of the present time, because all they care about is the unknowable, the future.”
“Because they strain to see around the bend in the river, the present nearly knocks them down as it swirls around their knees. It slips behind them and keeps flowing. It becomes the past without their even noticing. The past, for them, is forgotten. The memories fade, and they make the same mistakes all over again. That is why their questions made no sense today. Children, we are not like them!”
An excitement seemed to quicken his countenance as he looked around the fire ring. “We also see the passage of time like a river, but we respect the river! We know (the bend) is coming, and although we don’t know all about it, God does. We can trust him with the future. The present is all we can fully know and experience, so we must. We must love each other. We must smell the hibiscus flowers. We must hear the singing of the weaverbirds and the grunts of the lions. We must taste with joy the honey and the peanut sauce on the rice. We must laugh and cry and live.” Suddenly he grew sober again, the twinkle gone from his eyes. We knew from his cadence that something very important was about to be said. “Children,” he continued, with tears glistening in his eyes, “do not forget the past! It is just as much a part of the river as the future and the present. I will be there one day… and someday, a long time from now, so will you. You must remember what you have seen and heard and learned. You must tell the stories of today to the younger ones, your sons and daughters, when it becomes yesterday, the past.”
“Although the future is not known to us, it is known to God and only to God. He holds it in his hands. You don’t need to worry about it; it will come. God will take care of it. All we can see and feel is the present. All we can remember and honor is the past. It is enough, my children.” In the gathering darkness, there were nods of agreement all across the courtyard. We knew the chief had spoken wisdom that night.
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