Where old servants go...
His name is Carlos. I met him in a small town in the Dominican Republic, alongside the border with Haiti.
I was there participating in food distribution to families in need. I found out that in that part of the world a small sack of rice and a container of cooking oil goes a long way. We came to a small wooden house where in the back, in the dark, under a mosquito net, laid an old man. He had been sick for a while. He was half naked and very thin, almost fading away.
I reached under the net to hold his hand. He sandwiched my hand among his. As we began to talk I found out that he had worked for a long time serving the Lord. Years ago he had helped build churches. He taught Sunday school. He was a deacon and a preacher. He shared the story of having a machine that made blocks, cement blocks, and how this equipment almost killed him one early morning when he was making blocks to build a church.
Now in the twilight of his life, he was laying in bed, physically ailing and lonely for company. As he spoke, in my mind I saw the faces of people whom I have known to be servants in years past. They had names such as George, Dois, Jack, Hop, Helen, Dick, Tom, Ruth and Ben. These were the names of men and women who were now in, or close to, the twilight of their lives, and I wondered where they were.
These were men and women who built churches, directed their construction, fret about the roofing and tiles and the chairs and the carpets. These were people who fought to get the right permits for the construction and agonized about getting the right workers and the right equipment to do the job. At the height of their influence and capacity, members of churches trusted them to make the right decisions.
When they spoke, people listened, and ground was broken, money was spent, and workers were hired. They supervised the constructions while also teaching Sunday school and leading in mission and evangelistic endeavors. They were giants. Now some were sidelined by age, infirmities or by the misunderstandings of new generations that looked at them with misgivings, without recognizing or valuing their contribution in the past.
Their fate somewhat reminiscent of the apostle Paul during the last few days of his life here on earth: in a dungeon, cold, sick and longing for company. As I was leaving, I asked Carlos if he could tell me something he learned, that could help me in my journey. He paused for a few seconds and the said: "...God is good.. all the time..."
How do we honor such men and women? How do we honor their contribution? I am not completely sure. One thing I'm doing, however, is to contact those who came to my mind when I was visiting Carlos. I am letting them know that I am grateful for their contribution and their example to me and the privilege it has been for me to work alongside them.
I want to do that before they all fade away.
Posts
2 comments:
Passing this along to my dad. Thanks!
me gusta ver Como Los Soldados heridos cargan sin compañeros SUS, y sin honran Como caidos del SUS , Como reconocen Las Medallas de Los Hechos heroicos al Con valentía , y al merito me pregunto si conocen ELLOS Romanos 13:7,8 ; ningún Una debais Nadie nada. .. Que honra adeudemos al pagarle honra , etc
Post a Comment