“I am in charge,” Hodja said to his wife, 
as he listed the this and that of 
his plans for the day and 
what he expected her to finish 
before her returned.

“Have you asked God’s blessing
on this plan?” she asked as 
he rushed out the door to his
first appointment.

“What do you know, you silly woman!
I am in charge of my day!”
As Hodja hurried his sandal came
undone, he slipped and 
fell into a ditch, ripping his robe.
As he climbed out, covered in filth,
muttering  about being late,
the city’s patrol came by, and 
thinking him a beggar or a drunk
took him to jail, where he remained
until at last someone recognized him
and fetched Hodja’s wife to walk him home.

They walked silently home.
When they arrived, Hodja’s 
wife spoke: “Tomorrow I will 
go to the market and buy 
you a new robe.” 
Hodja looked at her,
then turned his face heavenward.
“If God wills,” he shouted, 
“If God wills!”

At this point my audience laughs
and I encourage it, but I wonder 
how many have noticed that 
in that ending, the wife as well
has fallen prey to thinking 
for the small tasks she, like her
husband can rely on “own wisdom”
Each time I tell the tale, I must
remind myself that any wisdom
I have is mere icing on the cupcake
of my being. When I remember
I am but a fool, that my trust needs
to be in the Baker, not the sugary
froth of myself, only then can I
call myself, name anyone, wise.
All else is hubris.
                        

Aesop’s career was built
on the hubris of those acting
as wise in their own eyes. 

Using an animal’s guise
his tales pricked the proud
making hearers laugh aloud.

In his tales, those who win
are turtles, not hares, the
sun’s smiles not boasting wind.

After more than two thousand
years, far too many still think 
of these as children’s stories
instead of  cautionary tales
and think themselves wise
when they are truly fools.