Sometimes I feel like the farmer’s mule with the carrot hanging on a stick in front of me. He is a good farmer, and treats me well. He gives me grain, and apples, and corn, and grass a plenty. He lets me spend nights in a clean warm stall. He shelters me from the rain – at least mostly. He cares for me well. But he never gives me that carrot – yet he knows carrots are my favorite thing. Sometimes I get frustrated that I can’t have the carrot, though I see it in front of me day-in and day-out. But then he brushes me and talks to me gently, and I know that he loves me. But oh how I do want that carrot.