The night of the day
In the middle of the year 1999, something very particular happened that was about to throw me into an eternal night of deep depression. One quiet morning was interrupted by the telephone call of a pastor who had the "scoop" of a false accusation against me.
It was a letter that a person from the secular sphere had written, questioning my personal integrity.
"It's amazing what they say about you," said my casual interlocutor.
Although I did not understand the reasons why this person had devoted himself to murmuring against me, much less understood the morbidity of this man in wanting to spread a lie. Maybe it was a cocktail of jealousy and envy. Or maybe, he did it out of ignorance.
Whatever it is, he threw me on the carpet in the room in a deep state of sadness.
For many years, I had heard about the bliss that meant when someone spoke ill of you, lying. But back then, I felt any way, less blessed.
I had hundreds of questions to ask the Lord.
I wanted to file a formal complaint in the Kingdom's complaint book.
I imagined that someone was going to defend me or put their face on me.
I dreamed of an exemplary punishment from God for the one who had invented the murmuring, and a worse torture for the one who was spreading it.
Anyway, and although obviously none of this happened, I had the worst night of my day. And of course, as you can imagine, it did not end with the sunrise.
He was very angry, annoyed and hurt, so that only one night of insomnia lasted. And instead of going through the situation, I decided to perpetuate the problem. Aggravate the crisis on my own.
It is amazing to observe the large number of people who do exactly the same. And maybe, you've done something similar once.
You read and reread the doctor's diagnosis over and over again.
You learn almost by heart the words with which that friend offended you.
Re edit those bitter images of the moment when you lacked respect.
You go back, mentally, to that place where you swore you did not want to return.
You get up at dawn, just to reread that telegram.
You rewind the tape of the contestant, for the sole reason of hearing once again those undeserved insults, while you mutter that you can not believe it, after all you did for him.
You decide, without reason and even if it hurts, to make the worst night of your soul eternal.
I remember that it was my wife who, after several weeks, returned me to the real world, and above all, to the spiritual one.
"You have no reason to feel sad," he said. "It is an unfounded lie that will not prosper, and as such, it will have to be diluted. Things worse happened to the Lord and he went on. On the other hand, "he added," He did not die on the cross to keep your reputation safe. But for the love of their children. He never assured you that everyone was going to love you.
I know what you are thinking right now. That I had the fortune to marry a very wise woman. And I totally agree.
Those simple phrases made me determine to stand up. I was going to work more than ever and I was going to get up, like Abraham, very early, to end my night. Whatever, I was going to face it.
But do not think I do not understand you. I know that mania to re-edit images that only hurt and make the test worse.
Watch Peter hide in the shadows of his own shame. It is not betrayal that hurts the most. They are the Master's words, replicating in his mind like a hammer.
-Before dawn, you will betray me.
If it were not for the Master sending him to look for him, Pedro could continue to live on his eternal private night.
The night of the day when he betrayed who he said he loved.
The night of the day he became a coward.
The night of the day when he stopped being an unconditional friend to become a vile traitor.
I think that in the morning, Pedro does not have the courage to take off his pajamas either. Maybe he will not even comb or wash his face. He does not find the meaning of having to go out on the street. He has no more valid reasons to get up early to fight.
Those words, that moment, that night. All seem to be reasons to be depressed. Therefore, the Lord sends him to call.
"Tell everyone, and Pedro, that I have just resuscitated," says the Master.
Is that when you stop being a child, and return to the worst night of your life, you realize that the crisis was not so serious.
Possibly, everything that once afflicted you, like Peter, will one day only be part of a simple anecdote from the past.
Is that all the big crises, they look small, when you grow up.