Every day I look outside my window and notice a sturdy log lying on the ground and think to myself, ‘I wish I could be like that log’. It remains unchanged in an ever-changing environment. It can withstand all kinds of storms. It would take a catastrophic event to move it, like a tornado or major flooding. I get that it’s not perfect, but I want to be like that strong, sturdy log out there. It’s always there. It never moves. Like the log, I too want to be predictable and reliable.
Then, as I was marveling at this log, my wife came into the room. I could hear her mumbling something about the log, but it didn’t sound so nice. I moved close enough to hear her without her knowing that I was listening. She uttered that she wished that log was gone, that it’s so disgusting and ugly, and that she wished lightening would strike it into little pieces so that she could shovel it away into the woods. Then I thought to myself, ‘maybe I don’t want to be like that log’.
Finally, I moved even closer to her and said that I could hear her bad mouthing that poor, good ole sturdy log. I told her what I thought about the log and asked why she hated it. She said that although it may look strong on the outside, inside it's dying and is being eaten alive by bugs and slowly rotting away. It's little by little being decimated by its environment. Wind, storms, snow, sun, and bugs are slowly destroying the log from the inside out. In time, those things will continue to gnaw away at the log until it can’t hold on any longer. It will then collapse and cave in.
As I pondered what my wife had said, I wondered, ‘How many other logs are out there? How many appear solid on the outside, but are slowly dying on the inside?’