The Contemplator
In a quiet, forgotten village, surrounded by rolling hills, there was a man they called the Contemplator. He wasn’t famous or loud; instead, his presence was like a soft whisper.
Every day, he sat on a moss-covered rock. From there, he looked out across the valley, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes, gray like storm clouds, held secrets. People wondered what he pondered—the mysteries of life, perhaps, or the wind’s secrets.
And so, the Contemplator became part of the landscape—a silent figure etched against the horizon, seeking answers in the stillness of his heart.
The villagers spoke of him in hushed tones. “He listens to the wind,” they said. “He hears secrets carried by the breeze.” His eyes, gray as storm clouds, held a depth that drew souls like moths to a flame. They sought answers, comfort, and perhaps a glimpse of eternity.
One evening, when the sky turned shades of orange and blue, a traveler walked up to the Contemplator. The traveler was curious and wanted to know what the Contemplator thought about life and the world. They sat together, and the Contemplator shared his wisdom.
“Why do you sit here, old man?” the traveler asked. “What wisdom do you seek?”
The Contemplator smiled, his lips barely parting. “Wisdom, my friend, is like the wind. It cannot be grasped, only felt. Listen.”
And so, the traveler sat beside him, and they listened—to the rustle of leaves, the distant song of a lark, and the whispers of the wind. The Contemplator spoke in riddles, weaving Scripture into the fabric of their conversation:
The first verse mentioned was Genesis 1:2: 'And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.' 'See,' said the Contemplator, 'the Spirit hovers over creation, stirring the depths.' This echoes Isaiah 30:21, which says, 'Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it."' 'We, too, must listen.’ “Then he quoted Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.” “Stillness,” he murmured, “is the canvas upon which God paints His revelations. In silence, we hear His voice.”
He proclaimed Ecclesiastes 3:1: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” “Our lives”, he mused, “are but seasons—each with its purpose. The wind whispers secrets of eternity.”
As days turned to weeks, the traveler returned, his eyes wide with wonder. “Contemplator,” he said, “why does God not change His mind? Why are His decrees unyielding?”
The Contemplator leaned back, tracing patterns in the air. “Ah,” he replied, “you ask the question that stretches beyond time. Listen, my friend.”
He told him of Malachi 3:6: “For I am the Lord, I change not.” “God,” he explained, “is the unchanging anchor in our storms. His promises endure, unwavering.”
Then he explained Isaiah 55:8-9: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
“His mind,” the Contemplator whispered, “is a vast ocean. We, mere mortals, skim its surface. His purposes transcend our understanding.”
One misty morning, the Contemplator vanished. And so, the moss-covered rock remained—a silent witness to a life spent seeking God’s truth. The traveler, now an elder, returned often, hoping for one last conversation. But the wind carried only echoes of Scripture, and the Contemplator’s lasting memory.
Disclaimer: This parable is a work of fiction, inspired by the image and the timeless wisdom of Scripture. Any resemblance to real individuals or events is purely coincidental.
Fifty years ago, I committed my life to serving the Lord. I hold an associate degree in Christian Education and a bachelor’s degree in Christian Counseling. I live by 1 Corinthians 9:16, and Ephesians 3:7-8. In my retirement, I focus on studying and sharing the teachings of God’s Word with others. Besides writing this Blog, I maintain 3 Facebook pages dedicated to spreading the Word of God. Email Dean: hopeinchrist2024@yahoo.com
