The Woman with the Shaved Head looked at the screen in rapt attention. "These men... I mean, I know this is all for show, but they certainly must be strong to do this every week." The Listener nodded. "I met a man recently..." "You did? Of course you did!" she laughed. "No," he continued. "He was..." "What?" "Lost in his own power..." I have always been a man of strength, he began. A country lad, raised on God's green earth. We had no machinery in those days: if'n you wanted a hay bale in the loft, you best figure out how to get it there yerself. 'N' so I did: I lifted and pushed and pulled, and the Lord rewarded me with a body that was as strong as the faith of the Saints themselves. I could bring a haul-wagon up from a ditch when the need arose, aye, 'n' I have been known in my day to even knock down the occasional recalcitrant rock wall with nothin' but prayer and these very shoulders. And it felt right and proper, usin' my strength this way. 'Twas as God intended it to be used, forcing and reshaping the world to suit my needs without giving in to that which would be my desires. I knew my limits, y'see. Just because I could lift a small boulder did not mean I could do the same with a larger one. 'Twas as it should be, because a gift such as this should come with humility attendin' to its side. On occasion, at the county fair, I would be asked to lift this or carry that, all for the wonder of the crowds. I gave it no mind; 'twas just a show for amusement... until one day, when someone, in passing, asked what was the greatest amount I had ever lifted. I did not know. The thought never came to mind. Ye dont look upon a wagon in a ditch as anything more than just that, even though I knew, of course, that a wagon is a heavy beast. So one day, for curiosity, I took to my barn and piled all that I could in my hay cart: scythes, hoes, all manner of steel and iron. The axles groaned at it. I bent down, positioned myself under the cart, and... stood. 'Twas nothing across my shoulders; I might as well have lifted a nest of newborn ducklings. A rational man would have questioned this, but I have not been known to be one, I suppose. Instead, I searched for more, adding so much that one of the wheels did shatter. And yet, I could easily pick it up and carry it over my head. I did not seem surprised at this, which I suppose one might see as a sin of pride. 'Twas not, I do assure you. It was simply a gift from the Creator, and I was thankful for it. But my neighbours and friends did not see it that way. At what they first found amusing and droll, now they found frightening. They feared I might use this power against them, that I might parlay it into usurping the village order. "But I would not!" I responded. "But you might!" they replied. "Strength demands power!" the curate said. "And with such strength..." the mayor started, then stopped, afraid of the consequences of his statement. My assurances went unheeded, until it was decided, for the good of the community, that I should be cast out. I accepted this as God's will, just as I have all else in my life. I went to the Great City, where I found I could make coin from this gift, a great deal of coin, for which I thank the Lord every night. I have found almost no limit to my strength, which leaves me more in awe than my audiences, for what possible purpose could it give? Still, I do not ask that. God will reveal Purpose in His time. But even with that, the fear I found in my village is a thousand fold here. I might desire naught but an evening's companion, but none, it seems, is allowed. All are afraid of what I might be. I may mean no one ill, nor will I ever... but somehow, the simple potential of doing so strikes a deeper chord than were I to actually commit myself to the act... "And has God revealed this... purpose?" the Woman asked. "Not yet. But the man waits, confident He will." "I should be surprised that would happen," she answered as she flipped the channel once more.