I was introduced to this story years ago by a dear family friend, Jackie Cargill. Jackie was one of those steady people every town hopes to have…thoughtful, respected, and committed to making things better. In Brownfield, he served in leadership in many ways, and on April 29, 1997, while serving as Development Director, he wrote a welcoming message for a Chamber of Commerce event.
Most welcome letters are read once and forgotten. Jackies was different. He slipped wisdom into it. He told a simple story about an old Chinese farmer. It was short, humble, and easy to miss if you were in a hurry. But I wasn’t in too much of a hurry that day, and the story has stayed with me ever since.
There once was an old Chinese farmer who lived quietly in a small village. He didn’t have much, just a small plot of land and one faithful horse that helped him work the fields. One morning the horse was gone. The gate was open, and the animal had disappeared.
The villagers gathered quickly. In small towns, news often travels faster than truth. They shook their heads and said, “That’s terrible. What bad luck.”
The old farmer listened and calmly replied, “Maybe so, maybe not.”
A few days later, the horse returned. Not only did it come back, but it brought with it several wild horses from the hills. Suddenly, the farmer had more help than he had ever imagined.
The villagers returned smiling. “That’s wonderful news. You are so fortunate.”
The old farmer simply said, “Maybe so, maybe not.”
Later, the farmer’s son tried to tame one of the wild horses. The horse threw him hard to the ground, breaking his leg. Again, the villagers gathered with sympathy. “That’s awful,” they said. “How unfortunate.”
The old farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not.”
Not long after, a warlord came through the village, taking every able-bodied young man to fight in a terrible war. The farmer’s son, unable to walk because of his broken leg, was left behind.
The villagers returned once more. “You are so lucky,” they said. “Your son was spared.”
The old farmer looked across his field and said, “Maybe so, maybe not.”
That story has followed me for nearly thirty years. I’ve shared it mostly with teams and coaches. I’ve told it after tough losses, when emotions were high, and everyone wanted to decide the season in one night. I’ve told it when a key player was lost from injury for the season and people assumed everything good had walked out the door with him.
The first narrative is always that it is bad news. Season is over. Momentum gone. Dreams crushed. But the wiser response is often simpler: we don’t know yet.
Sometimes a team loses an important player and discovers toughness, depth, leadership, and togetherness it never knew it had. Sometimes a painful loss in December exposes weaknesses that can still be fixed before February and March. Sometimes the very thing that looked like disaster becomes the turning point.
I’ve also shared this story when teams start hot. They win early, beat good people, and everybody starts saying, “We’re going to win it all.” That’s when the story is useful too. Slow down. We don’t know yet.
A fast start can build confidence, , but it can also build carelessness. Praise can distract just as much as pain can discourage. Winning in November does not guarantee winning later, just as losing now does not cancel what can still happen later.
That old farmer understood something many of us forget. He refused to let one moment tell the whole story. He didn’t overreact to setbacks or celebrate success. He simply kept working and let time reveal the meaning.
There’s a verse in Ecclesiastes that says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” That verse doesn’t promote instant understanding. It promises that time has a way of uncovering purpose.
I can look back now and see moments in my own life that felt like losses but became preparation. Doors that closed. Plans changed. Seasons that ended. At the time, I would have called them setbacks. Looking back, I see they were steps.
I’ve also had moments that felt like victories but came with burdens I didn’t expect. Success often carries responsibility. Opportunity often requires sacrifice. Even good news asks something from us.
The message I receive from Jackie’s story is simple: keep moving , keep working, keep thinking. We also do too much talking. Sometimes after bad news we talk too much. Sometimes after good news we talk too much. Sometimes, the best response is not another speech, another complaint, or another celebration. Sometimes the best response is simply to move forward.
Soon enough, time will tell us what it was.
I recently reread Jackie Cargill’s 1997 message and smiled at how well it still holds up. Jackie closed with these words:
“Suggestions and complaints from friends and neighbors are important and help us evaluate our perspective; however, if we all work together for one common goal, sometimes what seems to be bad luck turns out to be good.”
That’s leadership. That’s wisdom. That’s perspective.
I’ve learned that news is not good or bad…it’s just the current step in the journey.
Maybe So.
Maybe Not.
More from Stan Leech’s Faith & Leadership column: For another Brownfield memory rooted in the same community, read Find the Butavan. For another 1995 moment that shaped what came next, read Mountain Laurel.
