Fifteen year old Marcos Martinez had been looking forward to this trip for months. Now he was here, spending a month in Mexico on a mission trip with his papa's boss, Frank Tyson. Yet, nothing was going as he had planned. As a matter of fact, so far, it had been one disappointment after another.
The day after their plane had landed, Marcos had gone out with his Uncle Charo into the semi-familiar streets of the village where his papa had grown up, intent upon sharing the Gospel. But no one would listen to him. Even – no, especially – the friends that Marcos had made here over previous trips ignored him. The very boys that Marcos had thought about wanting to reach while here, and they were the ones who were giving him the worst of it.
Two weeks into the trip, nothing had changed. So it was with a discouraged and heavy heart that Marcos lay in bed at midnight, thinking and praying, trying to ignore the boys' smart-aleck remarks still running rampant through his head.
One in particular stuck out, refusing to go away.
What do you know? You're just the son of a carpenter!
Marcos kept thinking that there was something that he should get from that comment, something that he should connect it to, but nothing came to him.
Finally, he sat up, rubbed at his eyes for a second, and then, unable to think of anything else to do, he grabbed the book light that his parents had given him before he left Albany, and his Bible, and curled up on his bed, flipping randomly to a passage.
You're just the son of a carpenter!
He sighed, trying to immerse himself in the chapter before him; Matthew eleven. He went through that chapter and the next without really seeing the words in front of him.
Marcos put his head in his hands and began to pray aloud. "God, help me. I need an answer. What am I doing here? Tomorrow is my last day before I have to join the Tysons in Mexico City, and no one is listening to me here. I've tried to talk to my uncles about this, but no one understands what I'm going through with these people. No one!"
Marcos didn't feel like his prayer was over, so he didn't say "amen", just opened his eyes and started reading again. He was almost to the end of chapter thirteen, and almost to the point of giving up when a verse caught his eye. The passage was Matthew thirteen verses fifty-three through the end of the chapter.
And when he was come into his own country, he taught them in their synagogue, insomuch that they were astonished, and said, Whence hath this man this wisdom, and these mighty works? Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas? And his sisters, are they not all with us? Whence then hath this man all these things? And they were offended in him. But Jesus said unto them, A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own house. And he did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief.
A still small voice came to him, and although he never physically heard it, it was as clear as day. No one understands? I understand, my son. This is not what I have for you. Go to Mexico City. Better things are waiting there for you.
Marcos slid onto his knees beside the bed. "Thank you, Lord, for showing me this passage and for giving me Your answer. I'll go to Mexico City, trusting in Your plan for me. But, Lord, could you send someone here for my friends, someone who can reach them for You? If I can ask this way, can You send someone to Ricardo, Santiago, and Arturo especially? It's in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, that I pray. Amen."
The next day, Frank Tyson met Marcos at Charo Martinez's house where Marcos was clustered in the yard, saying a final goodbye to his three good friends, the same ones that he had mentioned in prayer the previous night. No one, including Marcos, thought anything of Marcos introducing his friends to the man before he left.
Three months later, Marcos received a letter in the mail from Arturo.
"What's it for?" his mama asked.
Marcos shrugged. "I don't know."
He flopped down at the kitchen table and began to read the letter written in Spanish.
Do you remember the trip you took to here a few months ago, how you introduced me to Senor Frank Tyson? Well, long story short, he gave me a tract before you both left and I've I kept in contact with him, asking him questions about la Biblia and the other stuff that you told us boys about. I was curious, but afraid to admit it in front of the others. And yesterday, largely in part because of Senor Tyson's letters (and, I have a feeling, your prayers) I received Christ as my Lord and Savior.
I just thought that you would like to know.
Your amigo and new brother in Christ,
P.S. Have you ever noticed Matthew 13:54-58?
This is a one-shot that I've had floating around in my head for awhile, and I decided to write it because I needed a break from "Have the Wish." Please review! Thanks!:)