The Value of a Small Step

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 rose 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 always at his work to this very day, and I too am working.” (1)


(Psychographed by Celia X. de Camargo on 10/9/2012.)
Gospel of John, Chapter 5, Verse 17.
Translation: Johnny Silveira
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