He proposes marriage in an outburst of passion and perhaps true love. Someone decides that finally will be dedicated to his real career and vocation: medicine.
She leaves her distractions behind, and enters the Bible Institute with the purpose of preparing to mission in some remote part of the world. A teenager makes the decision to be the best in football, and from now on, he will work very hard to achieve it.
The two spouses finally agree that she should not have an abortion, and they will have that child. All have a common denominator: fundamental decisions that now seem simple, but will affect their own future and unconsciously, that of others.
The first will stop being a single without worrying about which jean will use on Saturday, to become the axis of a family. Another will save hundreds of lives in a hospital, from an emergency room. The girl who once decided to prepare in the Institute, now preaches in a corner of New Guinea.
The other is a renowned footballer and has just signed a millionaire contract to play in Italy. The couple who once decided not to abort, today listen to his son give his presidential speech from the White House. Decisions that cause a cosmic blow somewhere. Decisions that will affect others generationally.
Small decisions that will go unnoticed by any writer of great events, but that over time, will become a big story.
I have a story, which speaks of those "simple" decisions. It was a cold May morning, and the man was having the saddest birthday of his entire existence. He was celebrating his first five decades of life and the balance was not favorable. His wife had fallen ill a few years ago. No matter how many, they had been eternal.
The man, by trade carpenter, had seen how gradually the cancer slowly took the companion of almost a lifetime. It was a humiliating disease. When was the last time this man with rustic hands had slept all night? I almost did not remember it. Everything had turned gray since the damn cancer came home. His wife had no resemblance to the photo of the old matrimonial portrait that hung on the bed. Now it was just a cadaverous face, snowy, without color and below the normal weight of any human being.
source
"You're an adult lady," the doctor had said, "go home, and ... wait."
The man, temperamental and with rough hands, knew what to expect. Sucker Punch. That which would take his wife and mother his four children. Without mercy, without granting him a few more years of grace. The putrid breath of death seemed to fill the atmosphere with the passing of days.
The drink was like an anesthetic for the old carpenter. At least, for a few hours I was not forced to think. For the duration of the drunkenness, he would have a break in the middle of a life that gave him no respite. There was any kind of alcohol scattered throughout the house; in the closet, the refrigerator, the garage, the shed, and even a bottle in the sawdust of an old and moldy barrel. This was his birthday. The man celebrated one more year of life and one year less with his wife.
The moan of his wife woke him up from the lethargy. "- Remember - the woman said softly - that today we are invited to go to that church ..."
The man made a gesture of disgust. He had been a Lutheran since his childhood and had not stepped on a church for years. He barely remembered some religious songs in the German language that were sung in his native Entre Ríos. But his wife's request was not an option, it was a desperate plea.
Maybe the last wish of those who fight body to body with the tumor that was determined to invade everything. One last attempt to approach God before leaving forever. The carpenter with rough hands and breath with white drink, nodded. They will go to that church that their eldest son had spoken to them. It was a bit far, but when cancer is installed in a home, nobody cares about the time. No one sleeps in the carpenter's house anymore.
That night, the birthday, the couple arrived with their two youngest children to the remote evangelical church in a neighborhood of Del Viso, Buenos Aires. He leaned against the far wall and heard the sermon.
"-Linda way to celebrate the birthday" - will have thought.
But he continued there with deep respect, watching his wife cry in front of the altar.
He almost did not hear the message, but he sensed that he should accompany his wife, and slowly, the man who hid bottles of alcohol in the sawdust, came forward. The two made a decision. They accepted Christ as their sufficient Savior. A simple decision that did not seem too historic, and I am sure that very few, that night, noticed the carpenter and his sick wife. But they changed their lives forever.
She watched the cancer recede slowly until miraculously transformed into a bad memory. The man got rid of all the bottles of alcohol and never took it again. What started as a bad day, ended with a decision that affects the future forever.
By the way, the story is real and it happened on May 1, 1975. The carpenter with the rude hands could never have imagined that due to his good decision, not only would his wife be healed, but also, one day he would affect his children. His youngest son, who at that time was seven years old, today preaches to hundreds of young people and among other things, writes this note.
That's what I call a generational decision. Thousands are affected by a simple step forward. When you decide what you are going to dedicate yourself to, who you are going to marry, or simply go to the front of an altar to take a new commitment with the Lord, remember that you are writing the story. Yours and others'.
I recently told my parents that I was deeply grateful for that gray first of May in which they made the most radical decision of their lives. I told them that every young person who came to hear my messages was also grateful.
And I told them, in addition, that I feel a tremendous responsibility, when I take one of those "simple" decisions such as writing this note. Because I never know who and how many I'm affecting. Although I'm completely sure of something: every minute of our lives, we write the story.
