Fast and furiously, the tears poured! Thunder claps of pain rolled in my heart, lightning of agony ripped my soul. For days, I had been on a weeping fest.
What would make a grown man cry so disconsolately? You might wonder. However, the cause of my sorrow was not farfetched.
I was the favoured one, the beloved of my dad. I was prodigiously talented; my skills almost overflowed the banks of rationality. I was the king of the game courts, the Lord of outdoor sports. Rugby, football, archery, shooting, name it; you could never find me wanting. On most days, you would see my father in the stands proudly applauding my feats. He never failed to tell any ear around him, “That is my son!” My six packed ridges, beefcakes and looks made me the toast of the ladies. Trophies lined the shelves in my room. I had all the brawn you could think of. It was somewhat unfair to others that I had been endowed with so much. To cap it all I was the heir to the wealthiest dynasty around. I had it and I flaunted it.
Unfortunately, my twin brother was different from me. We were as alike as chalk and cheese. A nerd who spent hours indoors tied to our mother’s apron. With eyeglasses almost as big as his face and two seemingly left feet, he usually came short in athletic endeavours. Dude was so lame it would take him fourteen years to nail the bird he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. A couch potato, he spent hours poring over books, browsing and just staring into space during periods he termed, meditation moments. My father and I never thought much of him and I especially treated him with disdain.
Ultimately, I became a game ranger and was into safaris and the sort. The steak I made my dad from my spoils in the woods rewarded me more with the currency of a father’s love. My brother on the other hand took over the family’s sheep ranch breeding prime sheep.
One day, after a long time out in the forests hunting, I came back to meet my brother making stew in the kitchen. The pot had different chunks of beef swimming in it and the tomatoes he had gotten from his farm made the pot run red temptation. I was exhausted and ravenous after a long day. When the aroma of the food hit my nostrils, I felt i would die if i did not partake of the meal.
“Please may I have some food?” I inquired.
“Only if you are willing to barter something for it,” He replied, smiling.
“What could you possibly want?” I further asked.
“Your inheritance, I will give you the whole pot for the deeds of your inheritance.” He said in a sly manner.
I was dying of hunger, my inheritance would not serve me in the grave if i expired this very moment, I reckoned to myself. It was a futuristic thing and by then my twin would have forgotten this little game we were playing.
“Sure thing, I’ll make the exchange,” I conceded.
He brought out a drawn agreement; apparently, he had been prepared for a day like this. I signed the paper with a flourish, saliva already flowing in my mouth as I thought of the stew I was going to despatch with relish. I felt good with the exchange believing I had gotten the better of him as I brought out a can of cold dewy beer to wash down the food. Little did I know that I had despised my inheritance, treated it with contempt as if it was of no value. I spat on a trans-generational treasure mine because of my appetite.
A few years down the line after the stew had been eaten, passed out and forgotten, my father was dying and It was time to bless me with the contents of the will. My twin produced the agreement we had made over the pot of food. Immediately, I was relegated to second place. He and his family automatically became the preferred ones. My father’s heart was splintered into bits. I had been so stupid and reckless.
My brother unlike me had placed so much stock on the immaterial and the intangible while I had lived for what I could see and taste. I lived by my senses and for my belly. He was deliberate in his actions even though he was physically disadvantaged. Though comparatively ordinary in outlook, his mental processes where far superior. He saw value and the future where I saw nothing. Playing to his strengths, he used what he had and what he could do to get what he wanted (not everyone could make a pot of stew that could be exchanged for a birthright). He knew my weaknesses; I fell for his strong points. Our choices of livelihood also came to bear, I ran after what already existed while he birthed and nurtured new things. He was a creator, be it lambs or stew. I was hoodwinked out of what was mine. The thinker outdid the doer!
The exchange had been made and could not be reversed. I had engaged in a destiny shattering transaction that would ripple through my bloodlines for years to come. I died brokenhearted…..
As the boys grew, Esau became a skillful hunter, while Jacob was a quiet sort who liked to stay at home. Isaac’s favourite was Esau, because of the venison he brought home, and Rebekah’s favourite was Jacob. One day Jacob was cooking stew when Esau arrived home exhausted from the hunt. Esau: “Boy, am I starved! Give me a bite of that red stuff there!” (From this came his nickname “Edom,” which means “Red Stuff.”) Jacob: “All right, trade me your birthright for it!” Esau: “When a man is dying of starvation, what good is his birthright?” Jacob: “Well then, vow to God that it is mine!” And Esau vowed, thereby selling all his eldest-son rights to his younger brother. Then Jacob gave Esau bread, peas, and stew; so he ate and drank and went on about his business, indifferent to the loss of the rights he had thrown away. Genesis 25: 27-34
Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears. Hebrews 12: 16-17
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