January 29, 2007

Things Could Be Worse

Things could be worse.

That phrase found its way into my thought process several times today. It is a good phrase to remember, especially in the midst of frustrating events.

The main source of my frustration today was the bank. Late last week, my debit card developed a problem whereby it was no longer readable by ATM machines and cash registers. Since both of these functions are essential—in truth, I can think of no other reason to even have a debit card—I made my way to the bank for what in the US would be a ten-minute process.

Two hours later I left the bank, having been informed that I would need to wait fifteen to twenty days for my new card. This posed a problem, because I will be needing to make several transactions between now and then. Itacyara has a card, but had been unable to use it due to a problem with the password. Now it would be necessary to take care of that problem.

Home for a quick lunch, and then back to the bank, this time with Itacyara in tow. Optimistically, I figured that it would be an in-and-out visit. Two hours later, we finally had a resolution to our problem.

As I cooled my heels in the bank, my mind drifted to stories told me by veteran missionaries here in Northeast Brazil. When they arrived in the region, ATM machines and debit cards were completely unheard of. Instead, money had to be brought physically from Fortaleza—a long and perilous journey in those days.

Yes, I thought. It could be worse.

Yesterday being Sunday, I drove the family to church in the sturdy pickup truck God has provided for our use. I parked on the street, and went in to worship.

When I returned, I found that someone had decided that the factory paint job was too dull, and had taken a stone and scratched designs of a decidedly cubist nature into the side of the vehicle. Call me a cretin, but I did not appreciate the artwork.

Persecution! While I was worshiping God in church, somebody had maliciously scratched my car! Surely, “these are the times that try men’s souls.”

Then my mind wandered to the pioneer missionaries on our field who had to have police protection at times, who were refused common courtesies, who were pelted with stones in the streets, and whose children had to endure all manner of mocking from neighborhood kids. Not to mention the multitude of believers around the world in our own times who pay for their faith in Christ—to quote Thomas Jefferson--with their “lives, their fortunes, their sacred honor.”

Suddenly the scratches on my pickup pale in comparison. Things could definitely be worse.

The following passage comes to mind:

“…looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood. (Heb.12:2-4 KJV)”

None of our petty suffering comes close to what Christ suffered for us. Most of us don’t even bleed for the Gospel. May God allow us to put things into perspective, and to see his hand in our adversities, petty or otherwise.

Posted by Andrew on January 29, 2007 7:36 PM.