Patricia Adrianzén de Vergara - I didn´t ask to be gold

2

The Lord will vindicate me; your love, Lord, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands.

(Psalm 138:8)

I believe that God was always molding my shape. He constructed me in such a way that I would not have dared to wish to be anything other than what His mind conceived. If I ever rebelled, it was not to the extent of daring to stretch my curve, the curve He formed to hold another. For I never longed to discard it, much less to stretch myself upward; I allowed all that He was teaching me through suffering to be concentrated in that then incomprehensible form in which my cane body ends.

From the beginning He prepared me to be a glass cane. I did not understand why I always had to learn by suffering; why I could not be like other girls, or later, like other young women, and laugh and enjoy life instead of always bearing the weight of someone else’s emotions or problems. The thing is that nothing made me happier than serving, but it was an aching happiness. Can there be such a thing as an aching happiness? It was the satisfaction of knowing that you were giving yourself, that you were serving, that you were the author of other people’s smiles, even at the expense of your own.

Renunciation entered your life stealthily since the detachment of that toy when you were a child. What you still don’t understand, or fully understand, is what you are made of; your transparency was always discussed. Some loved it, others squeezed it, others made fun of it or refused to believe it was real. Now you recall times when people pointed you out as something special and made you blush again and again, over and over again. Now you begin to understand why you experienced things: We have nothing that we have not received, nor are we anything but by grace. Yes, now you are beginning to understand His purposes. You are already formed and you must begin to function as a cane. You must not long to stand up and be a rod, nor wish to be a leg. You must take care of the transparency of your being by loving.

Because, with your whole being, you long for and need the one who leans on you. Because your motive in life is to fulfill God’s purposes for you. That is where you find joy, even if every day you must surrender something, perhaps something of yourself.

Because you long for that other person to be great in God’s eyes, fulfilling all His divine purposes. And you will always be there, caressing his face in your hands, shielding his heart, helping to renew his strength, invisibly bearing the weight of the human being you love so much, of the ministry you take on together, no matter how difficult it may be.

I only hope that God continues to perfect my form and that the one I love never forgets that though I am strong, I am also made of glass.

3

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

(Isaiah 6:8)

The Lord was calling me and I could not escape Him. He spoke to me throughout the entire meeting. I remembered the first time He did this, in a similar way, about seven years ago, when He called me to the ministry. At a youth congress, my heart had the conviction that I had to clean up my life to serve Him. I was twenty years old at the time; I did not fully understand the nature of the call I was accepting. I only remember that it was a sincere and solemn moment; the desire to live to serve Him flowed through me, through my tears.

My husband (though he was not my husband, then) experienced something similar around the same time. Almost parallel to his conversion through a passage from the book of Jeremiah, he understood that God would use him as an instrument to carry his message to others if he accepted the call. And accept it he did, giving up other professional opportunities to devote himself to serving Him full time.

This common experience was one of the things that brought us together when we fell in love. We both loved God’s work and felt that working in His vineyard was the greatest privilege. Thus, God allowed us to join our lives, and this dedication served to unite us. Roger was already ministering as associate pastor in the church where we had been spiritually born. We felt our lives consecrated entirely to God’s service.

And now, His heavenly voice resounded powerfully in the depths of our hearts. Almost at the end of a service about missions, God was clearly inviting me to accept the call to go out to the mission field, to go far away and be the bearer of His message to those who had never heard of Him. His voice devastated me.

Sitting on the bench, I struggled for a few minutes, questioning him. “Why are you calling me now with this intensity, now that I am married and expecting my first child? Why didn’t you do it when I was single? How can I go like this? If my husband doesn’t feel the same way I do, Lord, it will be impossible to obey you.”

His Spirit continued to work in my heart. My soul was overwhelmed by the urgency, the need for salvation of those who were waiting to hear His message.

“All right, Lord. I will go wherever you want me to go.”

I felt my husband praying beside me. I whispered in his ear: “The Lord is calling me.” Then, to my surprise, I saw his expression was like mine. I heard him reply: “He is calling me, too.”

We stood up and dedicated our lives and our family to His work once again. We chose to obey His call and to go wherever He would send us.

4

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.