Ha! I’ll bet you thought this may be a political post–but no, it’s story time–in a way.
In a village far, far away, lived a red pig. Standing out among the pig’s peers, and unable to speak without lisping, the pig discovered self-preservation.
The pig encased its heart with an unbreakable shell while moving from village to village, leaving destruction in its wake.
One could tell the red pig was coming, by the dust stirred up around its path to conquer. The pig took and took from others, never giving in return. Listening to others was ridiculous to the pig, after all, pigs know everything, right?
Eventually, the red pig grew old. The tables had turned—what goes around, comes around—all the taking of its former years, returned to take from the pig.
The red pig became despondent. Living the way the pig chose to live, was no longer satisfying. The shell around its heart began to break away, little bits at a time.
To be more successful at life, the red pig donned some lipstick, and went out to conquer again, this time with kindness and compassion. And the shell around its heart continued breaking away, until the red pig became just as vulnerable of long ago.
The villages had been left in shambles, and the pig was met with mistrust. Eventually, the red pig, now donning lipstick, discovered that lipstick on a pig–is still a pig.
Okay, for the beautiful story–my husband and I celebrated our 26th anniversary last week. Being together for so long, we always make a pact to not buy each other gifts. A card is nice, but love is enough for me.
Our anniversary was the day after we returned from the house purging in Nowhere. Doing as much as we could, as fast as we could, had completely drained us of our energy. We were the walking dead that day.
After he returned home from work, we blankly stared at the television, not wanting to move. We dined on not-homemade-pizza, with our oldest son and his long-time girlfriend. We decided to have a “just us” dinner out, if we made it to the weekend.
He surprised me with this beautiful gift, which was against our pact, but warmed my heart all the same. So, in return, I helped him dig smelly Georgia red clay, to find the long time source of an ugly wet spot in our front yard. We also had a pipe burst during the winter because we neglected to flush out the sprinkler system at the end of last season. I’m not placing blame on anyone, because I know how to do it as well. We just didn’t do it.
We didn’t find the source of the leak, and have decided to call in a professional. A little blow to our inflated do-it-yourself egos.
Although he did all the most difficult work, I ended up with red clay up to my armpits, but managed to avoid ruining my clothes. A beautiful victory!
Hoping you find something beautiful today.