Word prompt - humble
Those who remember their first encounter with Philip Swift, the young missionary assigned to their small Caribbean island, recall his idealistic fervor for spreading the Gospel.
He was rather full of earnest, righteous zeal, but a little lacking in humility, and compassion for the human condition, most said.
Young Mister Swift would arrive at a village or hamlet, and stay a week or so to plow the spiritual field, as it were, by talking to anyone and everyone about the Lord, before giving an oftentimes blistering sermon on Sunday. He would then move on to the next town on his circuit.
Then he disappeared for awhile. No one knew where he was, or what had happened to him. There were a few that were worried, when he didn't come back at the prescribed time. After all, the island wasn't very large, and there weren't that many villages to make up his mission field. A few of those of the more Christian persuasion sent out a search party, but came back with neither the young cleric, nor a clue as to where he could be.
Weeks later, he walked into the village as if he'd never been missing, leading a donkey loaded with his supplies - food, water, feed for his animal, a valise of clothing - all the things that an itinerant missionary usually had with him.
He gave no explanation for his absence, when questioned. He simply quietly refused to talk about it. There was something in his eyes, though, that gave the townsfolk pause, a curious mix of sadness and wonder and joy. But, they decided, it was his story to tell ... or not.
He went right back to plowing the spiritual field, talking to people about the Lord, but things were different. Gone was the aura of earnest, righteous superiority that only the young and inexperienced with the realities of the world can adopt. In its place was humble uncertainty. Not about his faith in his God, to be sure. But in the certainty in his mind that he knew all of God's secrets, and all of God's ways, and that the many vagaries of the human condition were all so simple, really.
He changed his circuit a bit too, after he came back. It still consisted of villages along the coasts, but with fewer forays into the not well populated interior.
He was never afraid to get his hands dirty during his usual stay before his Sunday sermon. He helped out wherever he could, especially down at the docks. There was one job, however, that he refused to do. He wouldn't mend the nets. Quietly, but firmly, he refused. Wouldn't give a reason, but the dark look that would come into his eyes was enough for the fishermen to never ask him more than once.
While working the docks, young Mister Swift would often get a faraway look on his face, and sometimes he'd simply stop whatever he was doing to stare out at the sea. It was a lonely look. Maybe he was missing someone special back home in England, they thought. But, every once in awhile, he'd be watching the waves and the tides, and he would suddenly smile. It was stunning, the way his features would light up, as if he'd just seen that special someone again. It was positively joyous.
A right curious thing, that.