There was a man who went out to sow grass. As he scattered seed he thought: This ground is too hard and the sun too hot. What shoots will flourish in this dry soil? Turning, he dropped the seed back into his pouch and walked away.
Another man arrived. He too carried with him a pouch. Kneeling on one knee he scratched the hard soil. Dry, rock hard, he thought. Turning, he walked away, but soon returned with a small pale of water. Dipping his hand, he sprinkled the ground until a muddy paste formed. Pressing his thumb into the soil, he carefully placed each seed into the divot and covered it.
For weeks the man would return each day to water his small plot. One day he noticed a green shoot emerging from the soil. The next day he brought more water and began in another part of the field, soaking the soil, massaging the mud. The man tended to his plot each day until he died.
When he awoke in heaven he found himself resting on a bed of cool grass. From above, a brilliant light warmed his skin. “Grass?” a voice boomed. “This is what you did with your life?”
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