When the Man Is Right

When the Man Is Right

A few years ago, in the golden heat of midsummer, the world outside buzzed with laughter. School was out, and children’s voices echoed through the neighborhood.

Inside the large white house at the end of the lane, a businessman sat hunched over his desk in a dim study. Papers were spread before him, deadlines stacked like bricks, the weight of unfinished work from the night before pressing in.

“Daddy!”

His five-year-old daughter’s voice cut through the silence—bright, persistent, impossible to ignore. She darted into the room again and again, each visit filled with questions and chatter, the kind of joyful interruption only a child can manage. No matter how often he gently sent her away or called for her mother, she always came back.

His eyes wandered to the coffee table where a glossy Saturday magazine lay open. On its cover was a vivid picture of the earth—blue oceans, green land, the whole world held together on a single page.

An idea formed.

He tore the page out and ripped it into pieces, then handed them to his daughter.

“Here,” he said, smiling. “It’s a puzzle of the world. See if you can put it back together.”

She grinned, gathered the pieces, and skipped out of the room.

“That should buy me some time,” he thought, turning back to his work.

Five minutes later, she was back—beaming, holding the page neatly taped together, every piece in place.

He stared at it, astonished.

“How did you finish it so fast?”

She looked up and said, “Daddy, on the back of the world was a picture of a man. I knew if I got the man right, the world would have to be right.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, letting her words settle.

The world won’t make sense until a man takes responsibility for his own life. A man's world won't get right, until he gets right first.