The Boy Who Looked For God

I am Juan Picas, born half of myself. I had only one eye, one ear, one arm, one, leg, one half of a body. My mother wept when she saw me, but loved me as I grew up and never regarded me as abnormal. My father, too, must have wept, although he never spoke of this. He also took me as I was and loved me as much as he knew.
I grew in their care, I thrived in their love. As far as I knew, I was entire; I thought myself whole. Like all babies, I learned first to smile and then to coo, to babble, and know my mother and father, too. I learned to crawl and sit up and, in time, to toddle.
I learned to speak, but even before that, I learned to laugh. My mother taught me laughter, perhaps even before I learned how to cry. She showered me with good cheer and constant delight. She taught me how to sing.
My father taught me how to see. The birds of the sky, the trees, the flowers that grew, the rain that fell and the winds that roared in the night – these my father spoke of and made me see how perfectly they fitted into our world and made it as lovely as it can be.
My father also spoke of people, saying that they are on this earth and living life as in a test. All that mattered was a life spent doing good. A man should apply his days in work and by his hands, hone his heart in service to God and his fellowmen. Less than this in intent and in labor done, a man’s days are but in vain. My father said this, and I realized how he directed his day and how he wished my life to be.
My father often spoke of God, as did my mother. The father in heaven who made us and whose Will keep us alive. God orders our days from our birth, through our youth and manhood, through age and through death and the afterlife. He has the whole world in His hands, rules the beating of our hearts, knows the numbers of our hair, and loves us in everything whether good or ill befalls us. All of life’s roads lead to Him; the answer to life’s questions lie to Him; the meaning of life is with Him. My mother and father taught me this and I learned it.
So I grew up a happy child swathed in kindness. My parents sheltered me and keep me away from prying eyes. I did not know harshness, cruelty even less; until as a frisky boy I set out to explore the world on my own. When ridicule sprang, I was bewildered and asked my parents why other children laughed and poked fun at me.
I had no playmates, I would not make friends. The very young fled in fright. Children as big as I was when surprised had ebbed plied me with questions to which I could not reply. Some hooted, many laughed and called me at their kindest, odd. Some even threw stones – which always missed for they hit my missing half.
Other people stared, too, and would not believe their eyes. They whispered about me and spoke behind their hands. What monster is this? They cried. Who sired him? And who bore him in the womb? They must be cursed.
I could not bear to hear my parents maligned. Without wishing them pain, I knew I had to ask them why: why was I like this and not like the rest; why was I born with just half of me, and not one whole as the others are; and where, if they knew, was the other half?
My mother wept, unable to answer. My father bowed his head and held me close. He did not know the answer, either. He never thought to pursue the question, trusting that God knew what He was doing. He made me and gave me to my parents to love. My father said, however, that I wished I could go by myself and seek out God for the answers I was seeking.
I knew I was a grown boy and could take care of myself. Certainly, I could find the way to God and I was willing to journey where I must, spending days, nights, months – nay, even years – to find in Him my entire self.
I set out with my parents’ blessings. I traveled through strange countries, walked among strange men and creatures. “Where are you going?” they always asked. Is said I am seeking God to ask Him why I was born one half of myself and where was the other half.
Nearly everyone, when each one learned that it was God whom I sought, they, too, realized that they also have a message for Him that was a question like mine. I met a creature in the shape of a horse that was tethered with a short rope. He was hefty, but he wanted to know why his tether was short. Why was it not longer so that he could wander and go wherever he pleased. He was so skinny, his bones showing through. Why was he so thin and ugly? He entrusted me to ask this question to God.
At the crossroads, I met a man who spent his days ostentatiously doing good – helping those who were lost, burdened, or tired; feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty; binding the wounds of those who were hurt and comforting those who wept. He proclaimed goodness and love and condemned those who did not do. What was his reward for such deed? He entrusted me to ask this question to God.
Finally, beside waterfall, I met a man who hid among the rocks and from there, robbed the unsuspecting and ignorant. He divested them of their possessions and if they had none, he whipped them in his fury, leaving them weak and wounded and poor. He knew he did wrong. What was his punishment? He entrusted me to ask this question to God.
After much traveling day and night, along smooth roads and on rough, running at times or stumbling along, covering miles in a day or going around in circles, my strength often fails me and my heart throbs with fear; but constant in faith, I, at last, reached God.
He was not like lightning or raging fire. Neither was he like a thunder nor whooshing like the wind. He was not blinding like the sun nor distant like the stars. He was gentle as an evening breeze that caresses my sleeping brow. He was certain like the voices I hear about me in my walking, at my work, and play. And He was real as the most ordinary events of everyday life.
I did not have to go far from where I was. In the most usual circumstances of my life, among those I knew and amid what I always did, there I found God. He was mirrored in my mother’s gentleness and in my father’s wisdom. I was not afraid to speak to Him. First, I asked the questions of the men and the creatures I met and then, my own. I learned from His answers that His ways and thoughts are not of men.
God said that the horse with short tether knew best how to make of his situation, and so he was hefty. The horse with a long tether did not profit from his instincts, so he was deprived of them. The robber by the waterfalls knew his wrong doings and seeing the error of his ways will make amends and reap his rewards with God. But the man at the crossroads who worked for reward, showing off his deeds, judging men and condemning those who did not do as he did, was a vain performer and did not really serve God; he had already reaped his paltry-sized prize and would not see Him.
And what is to become of me? I asked at last. Will I always be what I am? Do I serve Him, part of myself that I am, the other half not there?
God seemed to smile at my way. I heard Him say that He was glad I had come to Him at last. I had used my mind well, He said. I had followed my heart well, too. Didn’t I know that God rewards those who, in every way, seek Him through all their days?
Be whole, God said. Be one whole body. So it was. But now, as a reward for seeking God, I was whole at last, I sought and found. I journeyed and I arrived