habit of faith

When I was about 12 or 13, I developed a painting bronchopneumonia which turned out to be dangerously severe. A neglected cold, which I somehow managed to hide from my parents, got complicated to that critical stage. I didn’t know it was a percentage at the time mortality from bronchopneumonia is relatively high if untreated. At first I didn’t pay much attention to it.

What seemed strange to me was that inner whistling of a tired accordion when I breathed after coughing. The situation was getting worse. The coughing fit was followed by episodes in which he could no longer regain consciousness. breath voluntarily, but just returnedalways to my relief. So I spent some time not worrying about the disease and not saying anything to anyone until one day, when I got off the school bus, a cough forced me to exhale all the spare air in my lungs; but the pause for breath seemed longer than usual and more mechanical.

I just couldn’t catch my breath. I was suffocating. I panicked. I threw my backpack away to the ground and started running home, which was halfway down the block. tour
agitated, covered in cold sweat and out of breath. I remember almost kicking the door in despair. My sister opened it and, pale with fear, He shook my shoulders to find out what was wrong with me. Finally the dams opened and air returned to my body.

Catching my breath, I told him it was nothing. But I could hide evil there too. I was already hospitalized in the afternoon Miami Baptist Hospital, where we lived at the time, with doctors who must have scolded my parents for the supposed negligence that really didn’t suit them.

Over the years I realize that that an experience that brought me very close to losing my life it was not overcome by medical treatment alone. When I was repairing it, and in other similar cases in my life, I sincerely believe that something more than that, which had a certain purpose for me, preferred me to stay here, to finish my studies, to forge my profession and get married. I have three wonderful children. children. It happens to everyone eventually. If we complete the task of remembering difficult moments in which something more came to our aid, we will realize that there is a part of destiny in us and that we are here with the true purpose to be fulfilled.

But that purpose does not fall easily. Everyone has to find it, in their own way and in their own time. Faith is also behind this obvious goal in our lives. but atheists
and the agnostics think that we are mere flesh quickened by the shock of the nerves, and that, when we die, we become matter without a purpose; they are within their rights. However, peace and
the peace of mind that comes from owning it the belief that there is a refuge and a fortress what to turn to in times of trouble, will never be a part of their lives. Rumor has it that in the trenches
there are no atheists.

This may be true, because most of the faith one develops is only seasonal and reactive. It is subject to and bound to difficulties and tragedies in which, already emptied of the ability to face them, it seems to reach fortress of nothing It would be easier, however, if every day we quietly recount the moments in which we received unexpected help, that relief that nothing but faith and spirituality could bring us. Therefore we may not have to turn desperately to faith only in the midst of the shadows of anxiety; Therefore, we may always be burdened with the simple belief that, at least for each of us, God exists.