Читать книгу I didn´t ask to be gold - Patricia Adrianzén de Vergara - Страница 11

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THE LITTLE MEDICINE SPOON DID NOT STOP

This, then, is how you ought to regard us: as servants of Christ and as those entrusted with the mysteries God has revealed.

(1 Corinthians 4:1)

The spoon moved up and down in my husband’s hands, toward the mouth of our little one-and-a-half-year-old daughter. At first she resisted, but after a few seconds she opened her mouth and absorbed the medicine. It was the umpteenth time I had watched my husband do this; it touched my heart. I smiled, stroked his hair, and said:

“You poor thing! You’ve been doing the same thing for four years without a break.”

“What?” He asked in surprise, unaware of my thoughts.

“Giving medicines. Aren’t you tired of that little spoon?”

“Ah,” he smiled. I smiled too. He repeated the action with our three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. She quickly opened her mouth, asked for water, took a sip, and ran out of the room. Then my husband asked me if I had given the medicine to our oldest son before he left for school. Yes, I had.

I had awakened somewhat cheerful that morning, even though I didn't feel very well. The headaches I’d had for 20 years were more frequent now. But I remember my mood perfectly, because when I saw the spoon I smiled and even joked. On other occasions, that little spoon made me cry!

It had been about four years since we’d left our home in Lima to come to minister in this city, in one of the provinces of our country. We were experiencing things we’d never imagined, learning to be fruitful in the midst of adversity, striving for grace, and receiving both good and trouble from God.[3] I distinctly remember our attitude when we left. We had spent months in prayer, seeking God’s will. We knew that He had called us to missions, that He had clearly told us that we were to “go out.” Other doors had closed and those of this church in this city had opened. At that time, God gave us assurance. There were no tears, no suffering, only joy and happiness.

We were sure of His will; He was clearly directing our lives, beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was an unknown challenge, but perhaps the first step in learning how to do missions. And so, we went. It was hard work, moving to a new city with a four-year-old and a newborn. What lay ahead? We did not know. We brought our restless hearts to the altar of the Lord in complete dependence, in faith.

I will never forget the day we arrived. As we stepped off the plane and walked to the entrance of the airport entrance, I began to hear the voices of several church members who had come to greet us from the terrace. “Welcome, Pastor,” they repeated, “Welcome.” Each voice touched my heart. I was deeply moved and wanted to cry. Yes, we were here. It would be a new life. We did not know anyone. We were leaving behind many things: family, friends, our church. . . Could we look back now? No, we had arrived. The voices greeting us affirmed they were waiting for us: “Welcome.”

I couldn’t look straight ahead. I was holding my baby and trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Finally, we exited the passenger lounge with our luggage and met the strangers we had come to serve. They were now our church; would they really, one day, be our family? A sister hugged me and gave me a bouquet of roses. She told me that they had been praying a lot for us (more feelings). I noticed that many eyes were on me, awaiting my reaction. I smiled.