Take all that is given whether wealth, love or language, nothing

The poet George Herbert, in his quiet wisdom, once spoke these immortal words: “Take all that is given whether wealth, love or language, nothing comes by mistake and with good digestion all can be turned to health.” These are not merely words of contentment; they are a sacred law of life, echoing from the heart of eternity. Herbert, a man of both faith and letters, looked upon the world not as chaos, but as a divine composition—where every note, whether sweet or discordant, plays its part in the harmony of the soul. His teaching is one of acceptance, not as resignation, but as the alchemy of the spirit, turning all that befalls us—pleasure or pain—into the gold of understanding.

To “take all that is given” is the art of the strong. Many receive only what pleases them and curse the rest; but the wise know that even the bitter has purpose. Wealth, when it comes, tests our generosity; love, our vulnerability; language, our power to shape truth or falsehood. Each is a gift wrapped in responsibility. The world gives endlessly—opportunity, trial, loss, and grace—and the noble soul, like a patient healer, learns to digest it all. For as food, rightly digested, becomes strength, so too can every experience become health for the heart, if only we receive it without bitterness.

Look, then, to the story of Nelson Mandela, who, cast into the dark belly of prison for twenty-seven years, did not let hatred consume him. Instead, he digested the iron of his suffering and transformed it into compassion and resolve. From that long imprisonment, he emerged not as a man broken, but as a man tempered—his spirit clear as a blade, his heart vast enough to forgive. This is Herbert’s wisdom made flesh: that nothing given by life—no wound, no word, no waiting—is in vain, if the soul knows how to turn it to health.

But this digestion, my child, does not come easily. It demands patience, humility, and the stillness of heart that listens before it judges. The hasty man spits out the medicine that would heal him; the wise man chews it slowly, though it taste of gall. To see meaning in misfortune—this is the beginning of wisdom. Even the harsh tongue of an enemy, even the silence of a lost love, can become nourishment if we choose to learn from them. For life, like a stern teacher, repeats its lessons until they are understood.

The ancients taught that the universe is a vast table, and the gods serve each man his portion. Some receive plenty, others little, but all are fed according to their need. What matters is not the meal, but the digestion. To the grateful, even hardship becomes sustenance; to the resentful, even abundance turns to poison. Thus, the secret of joy lies not in what is given, but in how it is received. The heart that digests well lives well.

Let us then, as Herbert counsels, embrace the totality of life—its gifts, its griefs, its silences, and its songs. Take what is given without complaint, knowing that all things arrive with purpose. Do not cast away the bitter cup too soon, for it may contain your healing. And when love comes, drink deeply; when wealth comes, share freely; when language comes, speak truth. For these are the sacred streams through which the divine nourishes the world.

The lesson is this: Do not flee from what life places before you, nor clutch too tightly to what it takes away. Instead, live as the alchemist of your own fate, transmuting every element—joy and sorrow alike—into wisdom and strength. With good digestion, all things serve the spirit’s growth. This is not mere comfort, but power—the power to remain unshaken in fortune or in loss.

So, children of the turning world, remember Herbert’s counsel: nothing comes by mistake. Life gives only what your soul can use. Take all, accept all, transform all—and your days will become a long feast of meaning, where even the hardest bread sustains, and even the bitterest herbs heal.