These are the moments I cherish, those where I take a mental snapshot so that I can savor them over and over. I was crouching on my haunches beside my friend who was crouching likewise. It was a warm winter day, and we were both peering into a little gathering of dead sticks underneath a small bush. Nestled there was a mother pig with her seven little newborn piglets, all in a row sleeping contentedly right where they had fallen asleep while nursing. A few of the piglets were as pink and shiny as could be, just like the picture books. The others had mottled spots, some black and brown, some black and white. They were all just as cute as one could imagine, and we hunkered there exclaiming over them and chatting amiably. My friend was glad that her pig had finally had her babies, and she had motioned for me to follow her across her piece of land to show me where the new mother was. She asked me if I liked the pink ones or the spotted ones. I told her that I liked them all. She said that she would give me one when they were big enough, and asked if I wanted a male or female. I told her I did not really know—this would be the first time for me to have a pig.
I told her that I love raising all kinds of animals, but that I did not grow up that way. Then I told her a story of when I first came to Paraguay and someone sold me what I thought was a laying hen. I was so excited about having my own eggs, but when it started crowing I realized it was a rooster—I was not going to get any eggs from that chicken! That was the beginning of my learning about farm animals.
We both laughed at that, and then we got up from our hunkering vantage-point over the piglets and walked toward some trees that were hanging with bright orange fruit. She told me that the first tree was sour and bitter Sevielle oranges, which are rarely used for anything. The next tree, however, had some smaller oranges on it. She said, “Let’s pick some of these. They are sweet and good for juice.” She went to get a bag for the fruit and a rake to poke up into the tree to pull the fruit off its branches. We poked and pulled and picked up the fruit when it fell, and we chatted as we did so. This whole episode lasted only about ten minutes, and then I hurried to my home right across the dirt road because some visitors came to my house.
I had not shared the gospel with my friend (that is another story), we had not prayed, and I had not quoted any Bible verses. This, however, was a cherished moment to me simply because we had related as friends. Something had passed between us that was warm and friendly and genuine. A relationship was being built, and this was one little block in the foundation—and relationships form a platform of trust so that when the gospel is shared, it will stick.
© 2012 Women of the Harvest.
Question to Consider: What is one of your cherished moments?