Eight year old
Carl was very
discouraged. As
he entered the
classroom his
teacher noticed
that he was not
well and asked:
 |
- Carl, have you
finished your
task?
- No, teacher.
But every day is
the same! I'm
tired of always
having to do the
same things!
Brush my teeth,
take a shower,
do my homework!
Phew! I can't
stand it! -
replied the boy,
sullenly.
|
|
Full of
patience, the
teacher gave him
a slight smile: |
- Carl, we're
still here
because you have
not done your
task. Your
classmates have
already left. If
you had done it,
there would be
no need for you
to stay after
class.
- I know,
teacher, but I'm
tired! Why study
so much? ...
Seeing the
student's
dismay, the
teacher decided
to try a
different
approach.
- All right,
Carl. Close your
book and let's
go for a little
walk.
The boy's eyes
sparkled. He
excitedly obeyed
and followed the
teacher who took
him to the
garden.
Satisfied, he
could smell the
scent of the
plants.
- What a good
idea, teacher! I
love trees,
especially this
one with a huge
trunk!
How has it
managed to grow
so much?
- Only time does
that. This tree
started as a
small seed that
germinated and
grew slowly,
taking very long
to be as it is
now - the
teacher
explained.
Then she looked
around and said:
- The building
of our school,
how do you think
it was built?
- Ah! By
engineers and
builders ... |
 |
- That's right,
Carl. However,
for the builders
to build this
building, it
took loads of
bricks to make
the walls go up
little by
little.
The boy was
thoughtful,
quiet. The
master took
advantage of it
and went on:
- And your
clothes, how
were they made?
- Easy! My mom
bought them in a
store! - replied
the boy.
- Right.
However, Carl,
before being
ready for sale
in the shop, to
make your
clothes it was
necessary meters
of fabric, which
in turn is
composed of a
multitude of
threads.
Right then, they
saw a book on a
bench which
probably had
been forgotten
by a student.
Carl picked up
the book,
curious, and the
teacher took the
opportunity to
ask:
- And this book,
what is it made
of?
The boy thought
a moment and
replied:
- I know it!
Pages, which are
composed of
letters that
form the texts!
- Well done,
Carl! That's
right. Each
letter will form
syllables,
words, phrases,
which will
constitute a
text. Isn't it
interesting?
The boy was
surprised and at
the same time
amazed:
- Teacher, all
things are made
slowly and small
piece by small
piece!
- That's right,
Carl. And we
can't just give
up. Now, let us
go in and
continue the
task?
The boy entered
the room, opened
his book and
realized that if
he really wanted
to learn he
would have to
start studying
slowly but
firmly, without
laziness. Only
then he would
win in life.
|
So, the boy
picked up his
notebook and saw
the task that
still needed to
be finished. He
began to work
with
determination
and before long
it was done. He
handed it to the
teacher, who
praised his
effort, which
left him
satisfied.
On the way back
home, he walked
the streets
looking at
everything with
different eyes.
Each street had
been paved yard
by yard; each
building raised
brick by brick.
Carl now felt a
different
understanding,
appreciating the
effort of each
individual. |
 |
Arriving at his
home, he made
his bed, put his
clothes away and
hung the bag
behind the door.
All of the
things that his
mother had
taught him to do
but he
complained about
every day.
Wondering what
happened, his
mother asked
curious:
- What happened
today, Carl?
- I learned,
mom, that if I
want to be
someone in life,
I need to move
on and
accomplish my
tasks, without
losing heart.
Suddenly, he
looked at the
clock and said:
- Like
clockwork, for
example!
Carl saw that
his mother
looked at him
open-mouthed,
not
understanding.
- That's right!
Mom, have you
ever noticed
that the clock
works slowly,
second by
second, minute
by minute and
hour by hour,
without ever
stopping? Just
like Jesus!
- It does? ...
- Yes! I just
remembered. The
other day I read
in a magazine
that Jesus said
"My Father is
working until
now, and I am
working."
(1)
MEIMEI
(Psychographed
by Celia X. de
Camargo on
10/9/2012.)
(1)
Gospel of John,
Chapter 5, Verse
17.
