We Will See: Wisdom from the Chinese Farmer

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27.3-1.7 Framing Series, Set 1 of 3 (Parables): Essay 7

Related: Introduction to the Foundation Series · Introduction to the Load-Bearing Series · Introduction to the Framing Series · Framing Series, Set 1 (Parables) · Essay 1 (Parables, The Two Wolves) · Essay 2 (Parables, The Boy Who Cried Wolf) · Essay 3 (Parables, The Three Talents) · Essay 4 (Parables, The Prodigal Son) · Essay 5 (Parables, The Good Samaritan) · Essay 6 (Parables, The Blind Men and the Elephant)

Welcome

Some parables arrive quietly. They do not announce themselves with urgency or demand attention through drama. They sit beside you instead. They wait. We Will See, often shared as the wisdom of a Chinese farmer, is one of those parables that stays with you long after the first telling.

It offers no instructions and no guarantees. What it cultivates instead is restraint. A reminder that the story is still unfolding, and that I am rarely in a position to declare the meaning of a moment while I am still inside it.

My dad and I use this phrase often. When something feels heavy. When disappointment shows up. When a situation looks like a dead end. One of us will say it. We will see. It is not avoidance. It is not passivity. It is a deliberate decision to stop pretending that a single chapter gives us authority over the ending.

This parable is not about surrendering responsibility. It is about relinquishing certainty we do not actually possess.

Origin of the Parable

This story is widely shared as Chinese folk wisdom and is often associated with Taoist thought. A closely related idea appears in the idiom Saì Wēng shī mǎ, which reflects how apparent loss can later reveal itself as good fortune. Across tellings, the meaning remains consistent. Each event reframes the one before it, reminding us that conclusions drawn too early are rarely reliable.

The wisdom here is practical rather than mystical. Life unfolds in sequence rather than snapshots, and understanding often arrives after the moment has already passed.

Story Synopsis

The story is simple and intentionally repetitive. A farmer’s horse runs away. The neighbors call it bad luck. The farmer replies, We will see. The horse returns, bringing additional horses. The neighbors call it good luck. The farmer replies, We will see. The farmer’s son later breaks his leg while riding. Bad luck again. We will see. Then soldiers arrive to take young men away to fight, and the injured son is spared. Good luck again. We will see.

The repetition is the lesson. Each turn unsettles the confidence of the conclusion that came before it. The story keeps moving until the listener grows tired of labeling outcomes. That fatigue is purposeful. It trains patience. It trains restraint. It strengthens the capacity to remain steady amid uncertainty without slipping into fear or premature judgment.

How This Parable Found Me

This parable became personal early in my career through a lesson my dad shared and reinforced over time. Sometimes we learn the best lessons from the worst bosses. Not because the experience itself is good, but because it reveals what matters, clarifies what we value, and exposes what we refuse to become. Difficult days often sharpen gratitude for the people and relationships that quietly hold life together.

This is where We Will See has steadied me. In the middle of a frustrating stretch, I do not yet see what it is shaping in me. I do not always recognize what it is redirecting. I often lack clarity around what it may be protecting. The parable reminds me that my view is partial and that my sense of timing often is.

I believe deeply that we have real influence over our lives. I was taught early to drive my own bus. Preparation matters. Determination matters. Hard work matters. Perseverance matters. Even with all of that, limits remain. Outcomes can turn on health, timing, markets, other people’s decisions, and circumstances no one anticipates.

This parable does not excuse disengagement. It corrects overreach. It invites a loosening of instant judgment so there is room for the possibility that what looks like loss today may carry meaning or direction that only becomes visible with time.

There is a faith parallel here as well. I hold faith with gratitude, but without illusion. I cannot comprehend what God knows. That is not a weakness. That is reality. Within Catholic moral tradition, natural law speaks to the responsibility to pursue the good we can recognize through reason and conscience. Responsibility remains real even when full visibility does not.

That is why I return to a simple discipline. Do what I know is right. Be steady in effort. Hold outcomes with humility. I can drive my bus, but I am not the only driver on the road.

This steadiness was tested just before COVID. At the time, I was traveling extensively internationally for work, often on the road week after week. My wife was more than eight months pregnant with our twin daughters, our first children, and they were due in early April of 2020. One evening, Hanna asked a simple but heavy question: what will life look like after they arrive. I did not have an answer. No one could. The world was already beginning to feel unsettled, and every projection felt fragile. My response was calm and honest. We will see.

A few weeks later, our daughters were born just as the pandemic shut everything down. Travel stopped. Offices closed. Plans evaporated. What followed were years at home with my family, interrupted only by short work trips within the United States. The future I could not predict became something I never would have planned, and yet something I would not trade. I did not worry my way into clarity during that time. I stayed attentive. I stayed present. I chose steadiness over speculation, trusting that doing what was right in front of me mattered more than trying to solve a future that had not yet arrived. I remain deeply grateful for the unexpected gift of that early togetherness as our family took shape.

I experience the same temptation today in political chaos, market speculation, and endless forecasting. I believe in preparation. I also know that worrying through every possible outcome rarely produces wisdom. We will see becomes a reminder to slow down and remain open without surrendering responsibility.

This parable is especially challenging for me because I plan far ahead. I do not think in short windows. I think in decades. Along the way, there are forks in the road and apparent detours that feel like misdirection. Yet I often arrive at the distant destinations I set, just by a path I could not have predicted. The work is learning to enjoy the journey while welcoming the mystery each day brings.

When fear begins shouting that the sky is falling, faith, family, and core values become anchors. This reminds me of a lesson I learned early, long before I had language for it. Viktor Frankl wrote, “Everything can be taken from a person except one thing: the last of the human freedoms, to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” Hope remains even when outcomes are unclear, not because results are promised, but because meaning remains possible. That insight will open the next set of this framing series, Thinkers of Our Age. It belongs naturally beside this parable, which teaches the same quiet truth. We are responsible for how we respond, even when we do not control what unfolds.

Four True Places This Parable Shows Up

Over time, this story has continued to surface in my life, and each time it returns it feels less like advice and more like a stabilizer. It shows up not in abstraction, but in lived tension. It appears when quick conclusions feel tempting and restraint feels uncomfortable. These are four places where it continues to shape how I live, lead, and love.

1. In stretches at work where frustration can become a story too soon. A stalled project, tension with a leader, or an outcome that falls short can quietly turn into a narrative about failure or being off course. The risk is rarely the situation itself. The risk is deciding too quickly what it represents. This parable reminds me that I am often seeing only one frame of a much longer film. What feels like obstruction in the moment may later reveal itself as clarification, redirection, or even protection. We will see creates space for me to stay engaged without becoming reactive.
2. In family life, where my daughters pay close attention to how uncertainty is handled. My daughters do not need me to always have the answers. They need me to remain steady when answers are incomplete. When I rush to fix, predict, or explain away discomfort, I model anxiety. When I slow down and stay present, I model trust. Often, it really is that simple. This parable reminds me that presence shapes more than explanation ever could. How I carry myself through the unknown shapes far more than what I say.
3. In planning, where preparation matters but control remains limited. Even the best plans encounter forks in the road and apparent detours that feel like misdirection in the moment. This parable reminds me that long-range vision does not require rigid certainty. Preparation still matters, but flexibility matters just as much. I often arrive where I hoped to go, just by a path I could not have predicted. Holding plans with open hands does not weaken resolve. It strengthens adaptability.
4. In judgment, especially toward people. When I decide that I fully understand another person based on limited information, empathy narrows. This parable trains restraint. It invites pause before blame and reminds me that most stories are still unfolding, including my own. Staying open keeps relationships human and allows understanding to grow rather than stall.

Reflection Point

Steadiness grows when I resist the urge to label a moment as final.

The Lesson: Practice Restraint in Judgment

• Each event reframes the one before it, which makes quick conclusions unreliable.
• Patience is not passivity. It is disciplined restraint.
• Ownership of effort does not require guarantees of outcome.
• Steady leadership carries tension without transferring anxiety.

Practical Takeaways

1. When something goes wrong this week, pause before labeling it. Say, We will see, and then ask what the next faithful step is.
2. In moments of good news, practice the same restraint. Celebrate, then stay grounded. Continue preparing.
3. Replace one assumption with one honest question. What else could be true here.
4. Choose one steadiness practice that helps you hold uncertainty well, such as prayer, journaling, walking, or silence.
5. Model this for your children by acknowledging uncertainty without fear. Let them see you act responsibly without pretending you can predict everything.

Two Questions to Explore

• Where have you judged too soon, and what did time later reveal instead?
• What would it look like to hold your current uncertainty with steadiness rather than urgency?

Further Resources

Because links change, expire, or disappear over time, I no longer include direct links in this section. Instead, I name resources plainly and invite readers to explore them independently, trusting that ideas worth revisiting tend to remain accessible.

• Daoism (Encyclopaedia Britannica). A helpful overview of Taoist thought, especially its emphasis on restraint, humility, and living in alignment with reality rather than attempting constant control.
• Tao Te Ching by Laozi. A short, reflective text that rewards slow reading and return visits, particularly around themes of steadiness, non forcing, and quiet strength.
• Natural Law Theories (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). A grounded introduction to the idea that moral responsibility remains real even when outcomes are unclear or beyond personal control.

Thank you for being part of this journey. I want my daughters to grow up strong and steady, able to work hard, love well, and remain grounded when life turns unexpectedly. We will see is one of the small phrases that helps me live that way. It keeps me from pretending I know the ending. It keeps me open to learning. It helps me keep driving my bus responsibly, without gripping the steering wheel as if I control the entire road.

Live. Lead. Love.
Billy

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