Find the Pony, Clarky

Long ago and far away, I was a missionary who was struggling. It felt really, really rough; though I was trying my best, nothing seemed to work, and I was not happy. My dear sister wrote me a letter, and reminded me of a story my dad likes to tell sometimes. It stuck with me, and inspired a phrase that has become a mantra of sorts. It's been running through my head tonight, so I thought I'd share it here on my blog. There is some mild cursing, but I can't imagine that anyone pays all that much attention to what I think anyway, so I'm not going to be too worried about it. Let's just put it this way: if earthy terms for poop offend you, now would be a good time to click on that next blog tab.

Okay, here's the story.

Once upon a time there were two little boys, Bob and George. They were identical twins, alike in almost every way, but in one way they were very different. Bob and George were recruited for a study on twins, so their mom took them to the university where two rooms with one-way mirrors had been prepared.

First, they put Bob in his room and observed his reactions. Bob's room was a kid's dream. It was huge, and stocked with just about everything a boy could possibly want--movies, video games, a trampoline, a basketball hoop, a bike ramp, a fully stocked kitchenette with soda and snacks and a freezer full of ice cream. It was a wonderland! The researchers watched carefully as Bob entered the room. He looked at the DVDs and video games for a minute, walked over and took a few half-hearted jumps on the trampoline, went to the kitchen and had a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream, then sat down on the couch with a sour look on his face. After about ten minutes, the researchers asked Bob what was wrong.

"I've seen all these movies. The games in here are boring and there's nobody to play with. I'm tired and I don't want to jump or ride bikes. And that ice cream hurts my teeth. Can I go home now?"

So the researchers sent Bob back to his mom and turned their attention to George. George's room was a little different. It was tiny, no bigger than 10x10, and piled nearly to the ceiling with horse shit. They watched George as he entered the room. He furrowed his little brow in confusion, walked around the pile, looking carefully at it, plugging his nose. And then the strangest thing happened. Slowly a huge grin spread across George's face. He began to laugh and dig in the pile, flinging it joyfully across the room. After a few minutes of this strange behavior, the researchers had to find out what George was thinking, so they asked him why he was so happy. Why was he enjoying himself so much in these circumstances?

"Well," George replied, "With this much shit, I figure there has to be a pony in here somewhere."

The moral of the story? When life piles on truckloads of shit, put a smile on your face, laugh alot, and find the pony.