I was taught that "by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise."
I believed it. It gave me hope. All I had to do was take small simple steps. I bought into it hook line and sinker.
I did my small little things. I lit my candle. I took that first bite. I paced out a dozen baby steps to take me clear over there. I earned a widows mite and gave my two cents. I started my thousand mile journey with a single step. I planted my tiny seeds, I sawed the wood in front of me, I set my tireless tortoise feet upon the path, and I put my shoulder to the wheel.
Then I stopped, paused, poked my head above the underbrush, looked around, and realized that I had brought a squirt gun to a 5 alarm fire, a pocket knife to a shock and awe war, and a pup tent to withstand the gales of a class 5 hurricane. I had become a cult of incrementalism.
The world calls for no small and simple things. It's too late for that. Do the small simple things to develop your soul but then rage into large and profound dreams so that great things are truly brought to pass that astound the stilted who think they are wise. Scream, storm, rattle the cages, rage against the machine and be the voice that cannot be ignored that cries among the multitudes.
Nothing, big enough to meet the challenges of our day, can be resolved, by following a cult of incrementalism that calls a teaspoon forth to help empty out the flood waters of our times.
Loren M. Lambert
© August 13 , 2014
I believed it. It gave me hope. All I had to do was take small simple steps. I bought into it hook line and sinker.
I did my small little things. I lit my candle. I took that first bite. I paced out a dozen baby steps to take me clear over there. I earned a widows mite and gave my two cents. I started my thousand mile journey with a single step. I planted my tiny seeds, I sawed the wood in front of me, I set my tireless tortoise feet upon the path, and I put my shoulder to the wheel.
Then I stopped, paused, poked my head above the underbrush, looked around, and realized that I had brought a squirt gun to a 5 alarm fire, a pocket knife to a shock and awe war, and a pup tent to withstand the gales of a class 5 hurricane. I had become a cult of incrementalism.
The world calls for no small and simple things. It's too late for that. Do the small simple things to develop your soul but then rage into large and profound dreams so that great things are truly brought to pass that astound the stilted who think they are wise. Scream, storm, rattle the cages, rage against the machine and be the voice that cannot be ignored that cries among the multitudes.
Nothing, big enough to meet the challenges of our day, can be resolved, by following a cult of incrementalism that calls a teaspoon forth to help empty out the flood waters of our times.
Loren M. Lambert
© August 13 , 2014
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