Previously on Protestant Pat: William Carey
APOLOGIES: for my tardiness in delivering this post.
I am not up to an ideal and consistent blogging pace.
It would be easier if I had concluded my testimony at the day of my conversion as if to suggest that I ‘lived happily ever after’ but that would be far from the truth. It seems like every joy-filled realisation mixed with the circumstance I found myself to enjoy them in were not ideal. And many of my brothers and sisters in Christ would probably attest to experiencing similarly difficult circumstances, or if I may ‘sufferings’, in their conversion stories.
But in order to put this chapter of my testimony in its proper perspective, I think I need to explain the Scriptural text that retrospectively inspired my actions.
Previously on Protestant Pat: Catholic Chronicles
Over the fence from my house, beyond the desert (that was in fact a sandy parking lot of the markets) and across the swampy creek was my high school, William Carey Christian School, which I will call ‘William Carey‘ for short. It’s funny that the school was named after a great evangelist (missionary) for it was through this evangelical school that Jesus had truly become a part of my life.
Previously on Protestant Pat: Blue Baby
SIDE NOTE: Since I’ve started blogging I think I’ve caught a reading-bug. I believe it’s a little more exciting than the ‘travelling-bug’ since I sometimes get to use my imagination. But you may soon see more test-drives, ponderings and best of’s regarding my reading.
Growing up Catholic had never been a problem for me when I was in the Philippines. As far as I knew, Roman Catholicism was the only religion that existed. But here are a few episodes that I can retrieve from my fuzzy memory:
SUBJECT TO EMBELLISHMENTS DUE TO MY LACK of INFORMATION AND MEMORY:
On this day in 1986, a child was born in a hospital at Quezon, Philippines. But this little bub was different from the other three that preceded him, for he was blue. This had caused his mother and father much worry. So it was scheduled that the baby should be named and baptised, as soon as possible. The following day, a priest was called in. And being that a godfather had not yet been decided on yet, he too was elected responsible over that role.
Some time had passed as well as much anxiety. Thus, the mother of the child went to find an open space outside and cried out to God something in the spirit of
“TAKE HIM AS YOU WILL!”
And soon enough, a blood donor was found, the transfusion was made. And on that day, the lifeblood that flowed through the child’s veins would be remembered as a gift from God through that gracious donor. Soon after this, the boy’s father left to emigrate to Australia with the promise that the boy with the mother and his brother and sisters would soon follow. And only until the boy was five did he come to realise that his father was not a voice that came out of the cassette tape stereo but real human flesh and blood that loved him enough to leave him with a promise of a greater life with him in the future.
But little did his mother know that later in life her prayer would be answered to its fullest.
For the other posts and my rationale for this series, see ‘Protestant Pat’.