21/09/2025
ONCE UPON A TIME MONDAY
Title: Man of Many Keys.
— A Tale of Love, Vows, and the Strength of Commitment
Once upon a time, in a village nestled between green hills and rivers that sang with the wind, there lived a wise elder known to all as the Man of Many Keys. His home was a modest hut near the ancient fig tree, yet its walls glittered with hundreds of keys—each one different in shape and sound, each one holding the story of a sacred promise.
In those days, when two hearts chose to bind themselves together—whether in the holy bond of marriage or the solemn vow of consecrated life—they would place a padlock somewhere in their home, symbolizing their covenant. They would then carry the key, trembling with hope and reverence, to the Man of Many Keys. Once he accepted the key, their promise was sealed—not only with one another, but before the eyes of the entire village.
“You will not return for this key lightly,” he would say as he tucked it among the others. “For you have chosen a path not of convenience, but of commitment.”
And so the tradition lived on.
Among the many who visited the elder, two stories stood out. The first was that of Nia and Kato, a young couple who fell deeply in love. They were not rich, but their joy lit the streets. On their wedding night, they locked their padlock to the center beam of their hut, their hands shaking from the weight of what it meant. Together, they walked the path to the elder and handed him their key.
The second was of Sister Amara, a quiet girl who had heard the whisper of a deeper calling. She locked her padlock inside her prayer room, a symbol of her commitment to serve God alone. With grace, she placed her key into the wrinkled palm of the Man of Many Keys.
Years passed.
Kato lost his job, and Nia fell ill. Sister Amara faced loneliness and doubt. One stormy evening, Kato came to the elder's hut, soaked and tired. “I want the key,” he said. “This life is too hard. The love is not the same.”
The elder searched for the key and held it up—but did not give it.
Instead, he asked, “Tell me, Kato, did you promise to love only in sunshine, or also through storms?”
Kato was silent.
The elder placed the key back and said gently, “Come back when your heart remembers the vow, or when it truly cannot.”
That same week, Sister Amara came too. “I no longer feel the fire,” she confessed. “Perhaps I misunderstood the call.”
The elder gave her tea and silence. Then he said, “Fire does not always burn wild. Sometimes it is an ember—quiet but enduring. The question is not whether you still feel the call, but whether you still choose it.”
Amara wept, and then returned to her convent. Kato returned home.
And neither asked for their key again.
The village grew, and time passed. The Man of Many Keys grew older, and eventually passed on. But his hut remained, with all the keys intact—rusted now, but untouched. The villagers turned the hut into a house of remembrance. A place to walk in and be reminded: of vows, of love, of calling—and the power of commitment.
MORAL LESSON
In life, love, or calling, feelings will rise and fall like seasons. But commitment is not a feeling—it is a choice we make again and again. Whether you choose the path of marriage or consecrated life, let your word be your lock, and your heart the keeper of the key.
When you give your key away, mean it.
Let your promises grow roots deeper than doubt, and your love shine brighter than fleeting passion.
For in a world full of broken locks, be among those whose keys never returned.
