This life is a struggle. One day, you’ll see. You’ll toil and break your back. Your hands will be calloused and bloody. Your brow will be wet with sweat and dirty. You’ll heave, you’ll shove, you’ll push, and you’ll grind until one day, your knees finally give out. You’ll fall down, and you won’t be sure if you’ll ever get back up again. And then, with achy joints throbbing in agony, you’ll step back to get a better look at what you’ve done. In all your struggling, did you make something? Or did you just flop around helplessly in the dirt? Did you build towers, or did you level cities? Did you do something you could be proud of, or are you ashamed? Were you he who harvested the fruit, he who ate the fruit, or he who squashed the fruit beneath a muddy boot, spat at the ground and stuck up his nose? Who will you be when the sun kisses the horizon in the late hours of the evening, when all are to be laid to rest? Who are you after you’ve hung up your coat, kicked off your shoes, and turned down the sheets? You’ve washed your face clean, but who is it looking back at you from the mirror? Do you even know?
I will be bloody. Surely, I will break. My clothes will tear, my time will be spent, and it is then I will take an evaluation on my own handiwork. And when I gaze upon it, I hope to see something good. I hope to see a home in the forest, cresting the top of a hill with a river flowing beneath. I hope to see children laughing and playing on the lawn. I hope to see a happy, healthy family, secure in their love and in their wealth, without a harsh word on their lips or an ill thought in their head. I hope to see that I did good. I hope to see the love of my life holding my hand as the sunrises when we are much older, but still so very in love. And I hope to see you do the same. We may struggle, but it will not be in vain. I promise, even your failures will be spectacular. Just you watch.