We toss the die and spin the wheel,
believing Fate is something real.
A rabbit’s foot, a Charm in hand,
we think they guide where we will land.
We credit Chance for Joy or Gain,
and blame it too for Loss or Pain.
Yet Luck, that quintessential human Delusion,
is but a dream—a grand Illusion.
The farmer knows, through Trial and care,
the crop depends on sun and air.
No Charm will make the seedling grow,
but only God alone who knows.
The gambler swears his streak will stay,
as if the games have words to say.
But Luck won’t spread; it has no voice, —
it lives and dies by human choice.
We cling to it with Love and Fear, —
our god unseen with hand unclear.
Life unfolds through deeds and measure, —
through effort born, not uncertain treasure.
So let us cast the Myth away
and face with Courage each new day.
For Luck is but a Fleeting notion, —
a Ripple lost in life’s vast ocean.
The Lutheran Column 