The Mole and His Mother

In a quiet tunnel under the meadow lived a young mole and his mother. The tunnel smelled of damp earth and roots, and the little mole knew his way by touch and scent. He had been blind from birth, yet his nose was keen, and his paws could read the ground almost as fingers read a page.

One day the young mole lifted his head proudly and said, “Mother, I am quite sure that I can see.” He spoke as though saying it firmly would make it true. His mother did not scold him at once. She understood that he wished to feel grown and capable, but she also knew that a creature who mistakes wishing for knowing may soon stumble into danger.

So she placed before him a few grains of frankincense. They were not pebbles. They carried a clear, sweet fragrance that any careful nose might notice. “Tell me, my son,” she asked, “what is this?”

The young mole answered too quickly. He did not pause to smell, nor did he examine the grains with care. “It is a pebble,” he said.

His mother sighed. “My child,” she replied, “I fear you are not only blind, but have forgotten to use your sense of smell.” The mole lowered his head and at last noticed the fragrance he had missed.

After that he was slower to boast and quicker to test. He learned that admitting a limit does not make one worthless. It helps one use the gifts one truly has.