An Irish Farmer

AN IRISH FARMER 1

Once upon a time there was an Irish Man named Sean. He was a farmer. His father was a farmer. His grandfather was a farmer. His great-grandfather was a farmer. They all worked the same land in Ireland.

This man had many children and grandchildren whom he loved. He also loved Ireland as only an Irish farmer can. He was now old.

One day as he was returning from plowing back acres, he fell to the ground in great pain. He knew he was dying. As he was taking his last breath, he grabbed some soil with his hand.

After he died, he found himself at the Pearly Gates. St. Peter met him.

“Hello and welcome Sean!” said St. Peter.

Sean was a bit stunned but said hello.

Sean continued, “Wow, this is beautiful beyond words.”

St. Peter smiled. “Yes, it is. Would you like to go inside?”

“Yes I would.”

“OK”, said St. Peter, “but you have to let go of that dirt in your hands before you can enter.”

Sean was offended. “Dirt?! This is not dirt. This is the sweet country of Ireland and my lovely farm. The land of my family for generations.”

“You don’t want to let it go?” asked St. Peter.

“Not on your life.”

“Well, I am sorry to tell you that the only people who can enter are the people who let go of all grasping.”

“Then, I will not be entering”, said Sean.

St. Peter said “In that case, you can have a seat out there on the park bench until you change your mind.”

Now Sean was irritated. “Change my mind? I will never let go of the sweet land of Ireland and the land of my fathers!”

Sean went and sat down on the park bench. The staff of heaven provided him with food, as he needed it. Day after day he sat there hanging onto the dirt.

St. Peter decided to go and speak with God about this problem.

God listened mindfully and said, “OK. I am going to go out there and I will visit him as a grandchild.”

God, who looked like a 5-year-old child, approached Sean.

“What are you doing here Grandpa?”

Sean shrugged. “That fool St. Peter won’t let me enter heaven with Ireland in my hand so I have to sit here.”

God the child asked, “May I see Ireland?”

Sean looked at the child and opened his hand. Over time, the dirt had leaked out of his hand. It just looked like his hand was caked with old, sweaty dirt.”

God the child said, “Hmmm. Grandpa that does not look like Ireland to me. Ireland is gorgeous and spacious and full of robust life and lively scents. It just looks like your hands are dirty.”

Sean began to cry. He knew the child spoke the truth.

The child said, “Come with me Grandpa. Let’s go see what heaven is like.”

Brushing his hands on his pants, Sean slowly got up and took the child’s hand. They began to walk towards the Pearly Gates. Sean nodded to St. Peter.

St. Peter said, “Go left Sean.”

As Sean entered he took the road left and in a few minutes he was struck speechless for there before him was the lovely land of Ireland and his precious farm looking more beautiful than he ever could have imagined.

God the child said, “Welcome home Sean.’

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