The parable of the manhole

May 2014

Scene 1:

I walk down the street. I turn down an obscure little ally. There is a manhole in the ally that I never saw or have even been aware of. I fall into the manhole.

Scene 2:

I walk down the same street. I turn down the same obscure ally. I know about the manhole and try to jump over it. I fall into the manhole – all blood stained and bruised.

Scene 3:

I walk down the same street and turn down the street-lit obscure little ally. By this time I know about the manhole. I approach it very carefully, increase my pace in order to jump over it. I almost made it, but still fall into the darn thing. “Ahh, it was so close”, I think as a fall down the pit, now with the same bleeding scars and scratches.

Scene 4:

I am still walking in the same street. Life is good. The birds are singing, my wife and children enjoys the walk. We approach the dark, filthy ally and I turn down it. The manhole gives me a rush as I approach it. Instead of trying to jump the obstacle, I dive head first right into it. The excruciating pain of the same old scars is unbearable.

Scene5:

The long winding street is lined with trees. The healed scar and limp in my leg is a flashing reminder of “those were the days”. My compassionate loving, patient, faithful, praying wife holding on to my hand, is my vivid reminder not to turn down the dark filthy ally with it’s bottomless, grinding manhole.