One night, two frogs left the safety of their swamp and ventured into a nearby farm to explore. They soon found themselves in a dairy. Hopping and jumping around, they jumped into a milk pail half full of cream.

At first, they were both thrilled. They had never tasted anything so delicious! They drank and drank. Soon they were both full bellied and getting just a bit sleepy. “Time to get out of here and head back to the swamp for some shut-eye,” said the first frog.

But there was a problem. They’d had no trouble hopping into the pail, but how do hop out? The inside of  the pail was too slippery to climb, and there was nothing on which they could place their feet for traction to get up a good hopping distance….or any hopping distance at all.

The awful reality dawned on them: they were trapped.

Frantic, they began to thrash about, their little frog feet scrabbling for a foothold on the elusive, slippery curve of the pail’s edge.

Finally, the second frog cried out, “It’s no use! We’re doomed! Why bother? Let us save what dignity we have left and die here like frogs, with our eyes facing our homeland!”

The first frog cried out to stop him. “NO! We should never give up! When we were tadpoles, which of us would ever have dreamed that some day we would emerge from the water and hop about on land? Swim on, and pray for a miracle!”

The second frog eyed his brother sadly and said, “There are no miracles in the life of a frog, brother. Farewell.” And so saying, he turned his face in the direction of the swamp, gave a sigh, and slowly sank out of sight.

But the first frog refused to give up.

He continued to swim. He swam and he swam in ridiculous, pointless, useless, futile circles, hoping against hope for a miracle. Fired by adrenaline, he paddled mightily…yet his brother’s dying words clutched at his thoughts, even more insidious than the growing fatigue that tugged at his weakening muscles. Was my brother right?, he thought desperately. Am I a fool? Are there no miracles in the life of a frog?

Finally, he could swim no more…and with a great cry of anguish, he stopped paddling and let go, ready at last to face his fate like a frog.

But something odd that happened…or rather, didn’t happen. He didn’t sink. He just sat exactly where he was. Ever so tentatively, he stretched out a foot…and felt something touch solid.

He heaved a big sigh, both sad and grateful, said a silent farewell to his drowned brother, then scrambled up on top of the big lump of butter he had just finished churning….

….and hopped out of the pail and off to the swamp, alone, but alive. 

One simple question: Which frog are you? Are you giving up or are you pressing on?