An old story tells of a farmer who used an old horse in his fields. One day, the horse escaped into the hills and when the farmer’s neighbors found out they sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, “Bad luck? Good luck! Who knows?”

A week later, the horse returned with a herd of wild horses from the hills, and the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. He replied, “Good luck. Bad luck? Who knows?”

Then, when the farmer’s son attempted to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone again sympathized with the farmer over his bad luck. But the farmer’s reaction was, “Bad luck? Good luck! Who knows?”

Some weeks later, the army marched into the village and drafted every able-bodied youth they found. When they saw the farmer’s son with his broken leg, they let him stay.

Good luck! Bad luck? Who knows?

Pema Chödrön once said, “Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. When there’s a big disappointment, we don’t know if that’s the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure. Life is like that. We don’t know anything. We call something bad; we call it good. But really, we just don’t know.”  We never know what the end of the story is.

I once visited with a woman who experienced a terrible assault in her twenties.  She suffered for many years from this experience.  She eventually was able to work in therapy and gradually came to peace with the experience.  Towards the end of her therapy, she said, “You know, I know this sounds weird, but in a strange way, I am sort of grateful about what happened (the assault).”  I asked her to please explain.  She said, “Before the assault, I was a shallow person who thought breaking a fingernail was a tragedy.  The experience helped me to understand suffering in myself and others, and struggling to overcome it, I think, has made me a better person.  I don’t know where I would be now if that experience had not happened.”  I often think of the lesson she taught me that day.

None of us know the last chapter of our road as it unfolds.  Sometimes we need to just engage with the experience of the enfolding.