In the late 1800s, amid the searing heat of an African summer, a farmer stopped ploughing his field, wiped his brow and squinted at the horizon. What was he doing here, sweaty and miserable, staring at the south end of a north-bound mule? In the distance, a small band of adventurers were heading for the mountains.

If only I could join them, he thought.
Since the discovery of diamonds, thousands were dropping everything to join the search for the valuable stones. But not the farmer. There was work to be done. Fields to be tilled. Livestock to be fed.

Yet the promise of great wealth kept him awake at night and turned his tasks to drudgery. One day, when a complete stranger offered to buy his farm, the farmer agreed with a handshake.

At last, he was free to pursue his dream.

The search was long and painful. Trekking kilometre after weary kilometre across deserts and plains, he searched for the elusive diamonds. None could be found. Weeks turned to months, months to years. Finally, penniless, sick and utterly depressed, he took his own life.

Back home, the man who had purchased the farm carefully tilled the land. One day as he was planting a crop, he came across a strange-looking stone. Carrying it to the farmhouse, he placed it on the mantel.

That night, a friend noticed the unusual stone over the fireplace and picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands. Finally, he turned to the new owner of the farm and said, “Do you know what you have here? This has to be one of the largest diamonds ever found.”

Further investigation proved him right. The farm sold by the first farmer turned out to be one of the richest, most productive diamond mines in the world.

The times haven't changed much, have they? Just like the man who was so quick to sell the farm, too few of us take the time to investigate and polish what we already have. In our disappointment with the way things are, in our quest to get ahead, we fail to recognize the wealth in our own backyard.

Turning the Clock Back
Recently I met Andrew. A successful insurance and investment consultant, he spent the last 20 years of his life “searching for diamonds.” Eighteen months ago, he made his way back home. But by then, his house was empty. A note on the kitchen table told him why: “You were never here anyway. Goodbye.” His wife had taken their teenage son and daughter and moved 1,500 kilometres away, leaving Andrew with a sprawling ranch, two speedboats and an antique car collection. “I have absolutely everything,” he told me. “It's all paid for. But I've never been so empty. I didn't know what I had until it was gone.”

Six months ago, suicidal and desperate, Andrew fell to his knees and prayed, asking Jesus Christ to change him, to forgive him of the past and help him face the future. “This may sound crazy,” he told me, “but since that day, I have experienced more peace than I did during all those years of success. In many ways, my life is the most chaotic it has ever been, but every morning I take my worries and concerns to the living room and I spend an hour on my knees trying to leave them with God. Sometimes I find myself picking them up again during the day, but I'm learning to trust Him to take care of my family just like He's taking care of me.”

Today Andrew is doing all he can to reconcile with his wife and children, but he knows the road ahead is steep. “I thought I was giving them everything they needed,” he says. “I guess what they really needed was me.

“I was so busy building an empire,” he continues, “that I forgot to build a home. I was so busy working on multi-million-dollar deals that I hardly had time to buy my friends a cup of coffee. I would trade all this stuff in a heartbeat for one good friendship.”

I wish I could turn the clock back for Andrew. And sometimes I'd like to turn it back for myself. But like Andrew, I'm learning that it is relationships, not ranches, that make us rich. I'm learning that we make a living by what we get, and we make a life by what we give.

Visit popular author and speaker Phil Callaway online at www.laughagain.org.