A Parable
Once, The Prince called a man named Traveler to journey along a certain road to The City. The Prince had assured Traveler the City was on this road, and in the City, the Promise. But, after walking many miles, Traveler tired in his journey. He saw no sign of The City or The Promise and sometimes even wondered if he had ever met The Prince at all. Still, he walked.
Traveler’s sandaled feet kicked out dust clouds that lazily settled just a few inches away, like a ripple that impossibly paused before reaching shore. Head still down, he stopped, not just to sweep the sweat from his forehead, and not because he was tired, but because he was tired. Traveler was tempted to stay stopped, to sit down in the dirt, and give up. But he did not want to disappoint The Prince (for he knew he truly had met the man. After all, The Prince had saved Traveler from certain death.)
Traveler sighed, and lifted his eyes to the horizon. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing a mirage. Hazy in the distance, but unmistakable, was The City. How had he missed it before? He could barely make out the towers and the flapping burgundy flags. The Traveler’s heart began to race as his eyes widened and fixated on The City’s main Gate.
The whole world around him dropped away and Traveler started to run. He nearly fell down, but not because he had stumbled. Someone’s hand drove hard into his chest with such force that he stopped, stunned. What kind of enemy would keep him from The City? He started to angrily swat this mosquito away from him, but then noticed the man’s wounds; a jagged scar peeked out from under the man’s sleeve. This was The Prince. These were the injuries he had taken when rescuing Traveler. Ashamed, Traveler again dropped his head. Yes, now he could see the feet of the man who had stopped him. They, too, were scarred. What had he done? How would The Prince ever forgive this display of insolence? Traveler could not bring himself to look into The Prince’s face. He just kept staring at that wounded hand.
With a dignity only known to royalty, The Prince turned and lowered his hand, graciously offering it to Traveler. What kind of forgiveness was this? Traveler kept his eyes lowered, but took the Prince’s open hand into his own. Then they began to walk together. Along the road, The Prince pointed into the dust. There, sometimes hidden, but often as plain as bright flowers in a desert, were diamonds. How had Traveler missed so many? He bent down long enough to put some of them into his pockets, then took The Prince’s hand again.
After a few steps, Traveler gained the courage to look at The Prince’s face. The Prince smiled at him, then pointed to another diamond.