One summer night in Afghanistan, Shah Abbis left his palace dressed as a peasant to enjoy the evening air and to wander through the streets unnoticed. He walked until he reached the poorest section of town. He soon heard singing coming from a dimly lit cottage. As he peered in the window he saw a man sitting at a table.
Astonished to see such a poor man in such good spirits, he asked if he might come in as a guest. After accepting food and drink the Shah asked the man how he earned his living. "I am a poor Jew," said he. "I wander the streets and fix shoes, and with whatever I earn I buy enough to sustain myself for one day."
"But what will happen to you when you are too old to work?"" asked the Shah. "Oh I do not have to worry about that," the man said happily. "God blesses me day by day, I know he will provide."
The Shah returned to his palace determined to test the faith of this man. The next day he put out a proclamation forbidding anyone to fix shoes. The Jew was astonished to learn of the new law, but he lifted his eyes to heaven and said, "God, I know that you will provide."
He looked around and saw a man carrying water, and decided that he too would become a water carrier. He carried water to and from the town well, selling just enough to buy food for himself for one day. That evening, the Shah again disguised himself and returned to the man's house.
"How are you?" he asked upon entering. I heard of the new law and had to see how you survived the day."
"God did not abandon me today," the Jew answered happily. "The Shah closed one door, but God opened another. I am now a water carrier."
The next day the Shah issued a proclamation that no one was to carry water for pay. Again the Jew spoke to God, and this time he saw that men were going into the forest to cut trees to sell for firewood. This he also did, making just enough to buy food for one day.
Again the Shah came in disguise ad learned of the man's continued faith and good fortune. The next day he commanded all wood cutters to come work at the palace. He dressed them all as guards and gave them swords. He told them that they would not be paid until the end of the month. The peasant was perplexed indeed, for he had no money for that evening, let alone another month. But he told God that he trusted him to provide.
On the way home, while examining his sword and sheath, he had a clever idea. He made a sword out of wood and sold the Shah's sword. The money he got for the metal was enough to live on until the end of the month. The Shah was much surprised to find the peasant singing and eating that night.
"What will you do if the Shah finds out?" he asked when he heard the story.
"Oh I do not worry about such things," the Jew replied, "God blesses me day by day, he will not abandon me."
The next day the Shah ordered the guards to report to the center of the city where there was to be an execution of a man who had stolen fruit from the royal garden. All the townspeople came.
The Shah ordered the Jew to come forth and cut off the man's head. "Do not ask this of me," the Jew cried. "I have never even killed a fly."
"Obey or risk your own life!" said the Shah. The Jew closed his eyes in prayer for a few minutes and then called out loud: "God, you know that I have never killed anyone in my whole life. Please, God, if this man is guilty, let my sword be so sharp as to kill him in a single blow. But if he is not guilty, let my sword turn to wood, as a sign of his innocence."
With all eyes on him, he reached for his sword, pulled it out of its sheath, and held it high. The crowd gasped, then clapped and cheered when they say the wooden sword, for they assumed a miracle had taken place.
The Shah was delighted. He told the Jew that he had been the visitor of those four preceding nights, and invited him to stay with him in the palace as his advisor. "I see that you are a man of wisdom and unwavering faith," he said. "I have much to learn form you."
The Jew went to live in the palace with the Shah, and if you were to pass by there in the evenings, you would probably hear them singing.
Throughout our lives, we are so often consumed with thoughts, plans and worries of the future. We often pass agitated days or nights in which small simple joys pass by unnoticed, as our minds focus on our future security and happiness.
The poor Jew in this story lived in constant faith and gratitude, thinking only of meeting his needs day by day rather than worrying about the future, trusting completely that he will be provided for, come what may. How truly precious and rare such an attitude is. He lived in a state of love rather than fear; love of existence, love of the moment, love of life.
What would it be like, for each and every one of us, to cultivate this kind of state? What would it be like to consciously set aside the habitually ingrained mind sets of worry and planning, trusting God to provide for the needs of our soul and body, trusting the river of life to freely carry us, sinking fully into each moment presented to us, with deep gratitude acceptance and joy?
It is important to note that the Jew in this story did not sit leg over leg, saying "c'mon God, provide for me! I'm waiting!" The Jew in our story was actively involved in his own survival.
Indeed, he trusted in God to point him towards new openings and options, but he had no qualms about doing a hard day's work, joyfully expressing his gratitude for the meager living that enabled him to set food on his table every evening.
I find this attitude to be tremendously inspiring. On one hand there is a deep surrendering to the will of the Divine. We let go of our ideas of how things should be and we allow for some thing great and mysterious to work it's mystery through us.
On the other hand there is a willingness to act and to constantly be alert for signs and glimmers of intuition that will point us in the right direction. We remain strongly rooted with the faith that life is not only providing for us but is also prompting us towards growth and fulfillment, and often with this attitude a great sense of gratitude spontaneously wells up as we experience the pulse of life running cleanly through our being.
What would it be like to set aside all notions of what things should be like. The Jew in the story does not say "I don't want to be a water carrier or a wood cutter! Why should I give up my trade! Why is life doing this to me?" he happily accepts what ever options come his way.
Such joy and faith are often of an infectious nature, for as we see in the story, our Jew, with his pure heart and loving nature, wins the Shah's respect and affection, unwittingly elevating himself from penniless worker to palace advisor.
Perhaps this story can inspire us to live moment by moment with faith and gratitude. Perhaps remembering this story, we can surrender to whatever is coming our way, expressing our thanks for the small and large blessings of the day…with a song.