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

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.

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But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you”.

(Jeremiah 1:7)

Therefore this is what the Lord says: “If you repent, I will restore you that you may serve me; if you utter worthy, not worthless, words, you will be my spokesman. Let this people turn to you, but you must not turn to them.”

(Jeremiah 15:19)

My husband began to become great. I was always aware of his greatness before the Lord, of his integrity, but here God gave me the privilege of seeing his maturation very closely. This was his first experience as a Senior Pastor. Roger had served as Associate Pastor in a very large church for about six years. He had learned a great deal, but God had prepared new situations to lead him to greater growth.

The church was going through a very difficult time. Financially, it was bankrupt; emotionally, it was wounded; and spiritually, it was in great need. It was like a pernickety little sheep that, at first, seemed helpless, but then surprised us with its ramming. But it was our church, and we had to fight for it, for that God had brought us here.

Wisdom descends from on high for those who cry out for it. God does not leave us as orphans without resources; He provides everything we need to serve Him. He only demands that we commune with Him. If you are in His presence, you will inevitably drink Him in. And my husband delighted in God’s presence, crying out for wisdom and fresh anointing to make decisions, undertake projects, and correct mistakes.

After six months, thank God, there was no more financial debt. We will never forget the jubilant applause and tears of joy in the congregation at the service when we announced that all the debts had been paid. We felt grateful for the assurance of God’s support for our ministry. God also added the blessing of a pastoral team, with an associate pastor and a missionary couple, and our work together was fruitful. His grace overflowed even more. In seven months, with our joint effort, a new Temple was built, able to seat 750 people, replacing the old one that could only accommodate 150. The church warmed to us and we felt we belonged. Some who had painful memories began to heal. There was much evidence of spiritual growth and an increase of new brothers in leadership.

But along with these blessings, we began to suffer.

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Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.

(John 12:24)

There was a big old house. It was gray and damp, yet it stood through time. It became used to sheltering choruses of praise and voices that persisted in proclaiming Jesus as King. Many people passed through its doors; some stayed to be part of the family. The big house was always happy.

When we arrived, we learned to love every corner. We, too, raised our voices that surely echoed between its walls.

But the house had to die. It was too small for God’s projects. We had to tear down the walls, remove the doors, and shatter the columns. A much stronger and bigger structure was erected where it stood. Now almost no one remembers the old house. Its place is occupied by a modern building that continues to grow with time.

We are like that mansion. We were happy to fulfill our mission. We were satisfied with our small boundaries.

But we had much to learn. “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. . .” So, like the house, we died too. We die a little in every trial. We die to our self-sufficiency. We die in our suffering. And we are rebuilt. Our walls and columns might be broken, but we were not left demolished. We rose stronger and more stable. No wind can knock us over.

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Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow. . .

(Psalm 126:6ª)

Nataly was five months old when we arrived to our new city. She was chubby, cheeky, restless, and giggly. My husband used to joke she was his “chubby baby girl made of stainless steel,” because she was such a healthy baby. But, little by little, her energy began to wane. At first it was almost imperceptible, but then we were sure that our daughter was sick. We didn’t know what she had. Instead of gaining weight every month, as all babies do, she began to lose weight. She had recurring fevers; at first, they came every month and then, every fortnight. She was sweating profusely at night. Her lack of appetite eventually turned into anorexia. The doctor’s appointments began to be continuous. There was no sure diagnosis—only tests and guesswork, antibiotics, in case it was this or that, uncertainty, and fear. Yet Nataly continued to waste away.

At last, one of the doctors did a radiological examination of her lungs and diagnosed her with Koch’s disease. Mycobacterium tuberculosis was nestled in our daughter’s lungs. In addition to all the antibiotics she had been taking since she was nine months old, Nataly required a strict six-month TB treatment. These were very hard times. We had to administer her medications by force, holding her tightly. She threw up sometimes and had to be given them again. Her experience with meals was also traumatic. As she was completely anorexic, we fed her the same way we medicated her. She became weak, defenseless, constantly sick. We prayed often for her, anointing her, but God in His sovereignty had not decided to work supernaturally in this case.

After six months of medication, Nataly was reevaluated. When the nurse confirmed that the x-ray showed that the treatment had worked, I cried. Nataly was healthy.

We got home. In our bedroom, at our bedside, my husband and I knelt down to thank God. I vividly remember that moment—our tears, our feelings towards both our daughter and God, and our prayer:

“Thank you Lord, for allowing us to come through this trial. Thank you for accompanying us and for healing Nataly. Thank you because she is healthy. Now, please take care of her, Lord. Bless her, protect her, keep her from evil, glorify yourself in her little body. We give her to you once again. She is yours; she belongs to you. Thank you because we have been able to continue serving you with integrity of heart in the midst of all this.”

I naively thought it all ended there, but it did not. The next day Nataly had a 40-degree fever. We took her to the doctor and there was nothing to justify that temperature, though her throat was a little red.

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Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life.