“He tests us in hard times just as silver is refined in a
furnace." ~ Isaiah 48:10
Melvin had big dreams. One day he’d play soccer in a big stadium,
before a huge crowd of adoring fans – a far cry from his humble home in rural Guatemala.
An energetic but shy five year old, the ball became an
extension of his foot. He could dribble
with both feet, pass with some accuracy, and run like a puma. But mostly, he just loved kicking it around
with friends at school.
That afternoon, he was alone in the family’s front yard, one
directly across from the little church his Dad helped care for. He kicked the ball high, then higher. He practiced “catching” it with his foot and
bouncing it off his forehead.
He chased an errant “header” into the street. The truck couldn’t stop in time.
Melvin’s tiny bones were crushed. Bone fragments became lethal shrapnel inside
his small body. The impact was fatal. The driver was devastated. As were Melvin’s family, his schoolmates and
the entire village.
Weeks after the funeral, Melvin’s Dad rummaged through his
son’s things again. He missed riding his
boy to school on the front of his bicycle.
Of course Melvin could have walked the short distance, but José insisted
he arrive there safely. Plus it offered
them a few minutes together before long days in the field.
He touched Melvin’s
few possessions again, as if handling them would somehow bring his son back to
life. Playground dust still clung to the
laces from his shoes. There was a school
uniform that carried a hint of Melvin’s scent; the tattered ball that’d
provided hours of youthful pleasure.
A soft knock on the front door interrupted his
grieving. A sad man with slumped
shoulders and a broken heart stood as if waiting for penance. “I’m so sorry,” the truck driver said without
looking up. “I’ve come to ask your
forgiveness.”
“In honor of your son,” he continued, fighting back
tears. “I’d like to build a church; a
place where we can give thanks each day for the blessings of our health, our
harvest, and our love for each other.
I’d like it to be a tribute to your son.”
Eighteen months later, Templo Adventista Septimo Dia opened
in place of the small church across from Melvin’s home – for worship, for
healing, for God’s glory.
There are few joys to match what a child brings to a family.
And no sorrows that rival the pain of
burying a child. If you or a loved one
is walking through the valley of sorrow - know that you’re not alone. Those who’ve left us too soon, remind us of His
sovereign grace and the joyous mysteries found in the midst of suffering.
Lord Jesus, our grief is real. Our only sanity is the belief in everlasting
life, when the scales are righted and all sufferings are made good. We trust You - that while this child’s life on
earth is done, his life beyond has just begun. Amen
