This writing is distinct from my other essays. It is an allegory: a story with lessons that are as true and as old as time (a master of this genre is Paulo Coelho). Because the lessons are old, elements of the story should feel familiar. While the narration is mine, the ideas are not.
God’s withholding is in reality a giving, because He withholds without miserliness or loss. His withholding is a choice, and (the consequence) of beautiful discernment.
Sufyān al-Thawrī
Once upon a time, a beautiful Sister lived in the North. In a cottage made of timber and straws, she had lived with her younger brother ever since their parents passed away. He always told her that he was the best hunter in the village. Every time she questioned it, the brother would leave home for days, hunting, then sold what he caught and came home with twice as much bread and a gorgeous dress (sometimes too big for her).
On one rainful, fateful evening, her brother fell off his horse and broke his legs while hunting. He could no longer walk, let alone hunt in the woods.
The Voice said to the Sister, ‘Life has taken away your brother’s future. Life is always cruel to you.’
Filling her heart with patience, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
Now, the brother had to work for a scribe, learning how to copy Persian manuscripts brought by ships that passed through the Northern Harbour.
At dawn’s first light, the Sister roused her brother up. With determined care, she wheeled him on a creaking wooden cart through silent streets to the bustling harbour. She then spent the day working to clean the docked ships.
Her brother never told her this, but he hated that he now had to learn to read and write. Yet he did it anyway, because he loved his Sister, and all they had was each other.
Just before winter, the Duke of the North sent out his swordsmen to all the villages. They forcefully recruited all able-bodied men to invade the neighbouring province.
When the soldiers came to the cottage, they stared at her brother’s legs.
Then they left him alone.
The invasion eventually failed. All the Northerners who were recruited were either killed or captured.
The Voice said to the Sister, ‘Life has spared the only family you have. Life is always kind to you.’
Filled with gratitude, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
Weeks later, in retaliation, the neighbouring province invaded the North with a full battalion. They slaughtered the Northerners and took all the cottages as their own. The Sister and her brother barely escaped it when the enemy arrived at their village.
They travelled to the South. The journey demanded her endurance; each step was a struggle as she bore the weight of the wooden cart and their shared fate. What should have been a journey of mere days stretched into weary weeks.
The Voice said, ‘Life has taken your home and everything you owned. Life is always cruel to you.’
In perseverance, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
The Southern gate, with its towering stone walls and guarded turrets, marked a stark contrast to the humble villages of the North. As the Sister and her brother crossed the gate, they overheard the garrison at the wall, talking about an unprecedented winter storm that had swept over the North.
The Sister and her brother learned that their village was utterly destroyed. It was so sudden that they would not have survived had they still lived there.
The Voice said, ‘Life has saved you and your brother. Life is always kind to you.’
In a thankful whisper, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
Since arriving in the South, the Sister and her brother had faced cold rejections at every corner and every turn. Their search for work was fruitless, as the Southerners had a deep mistrust for those who were foreign to their land.
Day after day, the Sister and her brother found themselves at the mercy of the bazaar’s crowds, quietly pleading for scraps of food and sips of water.
The Voice said, ‘Now life has taken away your dignity too. Life is always cruel to you.’
In calm resignation, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
One evening, a dishevelled old lady came to the Sister and her brother. She said she had not eaten for days, and begged for the little bread that they had. The brother glanced at his Sister with watery eyes. They knew that if they gave it to the old lady, they would be hungry for the rest of the night.
The Voice said to the Sister, ‘Life has taken everything from you. You do not owe kindness to a cruel life. Kindness will starve you and your brother.’
Filled with compassion, the Sister replied, ‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not.’
She raised her head, met her brother’s eyes, and gently nodded.
While eating the bread, the old lady asked about the Sister and her brother. They told her everything that Life had offered them – the things they had to be patient about, and the things they were grateful for.
‘Come with me,’ said the old lady suddenly. ‘You shall have shelter for the night.’
They took a long walk towards a hill. For the weary siblings, the journey felt like forever.
On the hill, the Sister and her brother gasped when they saw an enormous, elegant chateau. And from the marble door, dozens of servants emerged, and bowed to the old lady.
‘I am the Baroness of the city,’ said the old lady, ‘but I was a commoner before.
‘Now and then, I roam the bazaar hiding in poor cloaks, looking to extend the grace God has given me to those whose hearts deserve it…’
The baroness gazed at the Sister, ‘…and your heart does.
‘Since your brother can read and write, I will hire him as a tutor for my granddaughters. And I invite you to stay as one of the ladies of my court. I shall give you two a new home.’
The Sister and her brother hugged each other in tears.
The Voice said, ‘You have gained more than you have ever lost before. Life is always kind to you.’
‘Perhaps so, and perhaps not…’ the Sister replied.
‘…And no matter which is true, my dear Heart, and no matter what your Voice says, I will choose contentment for you. For God does not withhold because He is forced to, nor does He give because He needs you.’