Nails...

Thanks. I give thanks. Thanks for all that I have. For all that I have become. Looking back on life and its trials, how could one trade their experiences for anything? My tribulations are those things that I have endured which only add to my life's story. I do not wish to be anyone but who I was created to be. I do, however, admire many people for their many talents, abilities, virtues and characteristics. There is greatness in men and women in every corner of the earth. Sometimes, it helps me to embrace these strengths when I feel lacking in any particular area. Presently, I wish to be more patient. Oftentimes I speak or act or even react too quickly. It's only afterwards when pondering the transpired events that I realize that better approaches may have been able to be made. We can apologize for wrongs we commit but we cannot undo nor change what has occurred. That very notion reminds me of the story of the father and the child and the picket fence:

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.

The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there.”

The little boy then understood how powerful his words were. He looked up at his father and said “I hope you can forgive me father for the holes I put in you.”

“Of course I can,” said the father.