Push the cow off the cliff!

“BEHOLD, I will do a new thing…” — Isaiah 43:19

They had been walking for hours. The sage and his disciple, weary from their journey, lifted their eyes and saw smoke rising in the distance. A solitary hut in a desolate landscape. Barely a tree in sight. They followed the smoke and knocked on the door.

A man welcomed them in – his wife, three young children, and a thin, tired-looking cow completing the picture of a family living on the very edge of survival. But what they lacked in comfort, they more than made up for in generous hospitality. A hot meal was prepared. Fresh cow’s milk was served.

And in that humble space, warmth was shared freely between strangers.

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Grateful and curious, the sage asked the man how they managed to live on top of a cliff, so far from everything and everyone.

«You see that cow?» the host said, gesturing toward the skinny animal tethered to a small tree in the yard. «She is everything. She gives us milk. What we don’t drink, we turn into cheese. When there’s extra, we take it to the city and trade it for other food. That’s how we stay alive.»

The sage nodded. They thanked the family and left.

When they were safely out of sight, the sage turned to his disciple with a quiet but firm instruction.

«Go back. Get the cow. Take her to the edge of the cliff and push her off.»

The disciple stared at his master in disbelief.

«How can you ask me to do that? That cow is their only lifeline. Without her, they could die. Is this how we repay people who gave us everything they had?»

The sage did not flinch. He repeated the order.

Outraged, conflicted, but bound by obedience, the disciple tiptoed to where the cow was tied. He untied the animal, led her to the edge of the cliff, and pushed. The animal fell to a certain death. The disciple walked away carrying something heavier than guilt — the fear that he had just ended a family.

He carried that weight for several years.

Until one day it became unbearable. He left his master and retraced his steps back to that desolate road, back to that hut – determined to face whatever consequences his act had caused.

What he found stopped him cold.

The hut was gone. In its place stood a beautiful home surrounded by trees, a swimming pool glistening in the afternoon light, several cars in the driveway, every marker of completely transformed life. Around a barbecue fire, a group of youngsters were celebrating – laughing, alive, and toasting what he would later discover was another one of them making his first million dollars.

He was convinced something terrible must have happened.

Surely the family had perished and strangers had claimed the land. He approached a man nearby and asked about the poor family that had once lived in a hut here.

The man smiled and pointed toward the pool.

«You’re looking at them.»

Barely breathing, the disciple walked through the gate. And there – older, stronger, and radiating a confidence that had not existed before — was the same man who had poured him milk years ago. His wife beside him, happy. His children, now young adults, unbothered and thriving.

«What happened?» the disciple finally managed.

The man looked at him and replied with a calm, knowing smile.

«You remember that cow we had? The day you visited, she fell off the cliff and died. We had nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And because we had nothing, we had no choice but to figure out everything. We discovered skills we never knew we had.

We found ways of doing things we never thought to try. We stopped surviving and started building. And what you see now is the result.»

Is your favourite dictum “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”? Or perhaps, “if it ain’t broke, why fix it”? In a rapidly changing, increasingly complex world, those sayings may be costing you the life you were built for.

What you are doing may be keeping you alive. But is it keeping you awake? Is it inspiring you? Is it pointing toward significance – or just certainty?

In 1986, I left the civil service for the private sector. One of my uncles, out of genuine love, asked me why I would trade certainty for uncertainty. I understood his concern. But I also understood something he could not quite see from where he was standing — that certainty, when it becomes a ceiling, is no longer a blessing. It is a cage. Thank God I pushed my own cow off the cliff.

Many people are paralyzed by a thought that sounds reasonable but is quietly devastating: I may not be doing great, but I’m better off than people I know. That thought feels like gratitude. It is not. It is containment disguised as contentment. There is a difference. Contentment is the peace that comes from knowing where you are going. Containment is the excuse that keeps you from going anywhere at all.

Comfort is the enemy of progress. Good is the adversary of the best. And the greatest obstacle to your future is often the success you recorded in your past.

You cannot grasp what is ahead while holding on to what is behind. Whatever chains you to the present cannot launch you into the future.

What if someone pushed your cow off the cliff today? What if the very thing you depend on most – the thing that feels so necessary, so certain, so safe — suddenly disappeared?

Perhaps then you would finally see what God has been trying to show you all along: an uncharted horizon of endless possibilities that your dependence on certainty has been quietly blocking.

A few lessons.

Forced change is often the most powerful catalyst for growth. What feels like a crisis may be the beginning of your greatest chapter.

Certainty can imprison you. If you are only surviving, you are not yet living at your full capacity.

Hidden potential usually surfaces under pressure. The family did not discover their abilities despite losing the cow – they discovered them because they lost it.

Contentment and containment are not the same thing. Be grateful for where you are. But never confuse gratitude with settling.

Good enough is the enemy of extraordinary. Push past sufficiency before life pushes you. Move by choice before you are moved by circumstance.

Take an honest look at the cow in your life right now – the safety net, the comfort zone, the familiar routine that is sustaining you but no longer stretching you. You do not have to lose it to grow beyond it. But you do have to be willing to.

Take one step today beyond what feels safe. Sign up for a course. Submit the application. Make the call. Start the business. Write the first chapter of that book. Do the one thing you have been postponing because the cow is still alive and still giving milk.

Your possibilities must never be limited by your circumstances.

Happy Fathers’ Day, even if in arrears!

Remember — the sky is not your limit. God is.