Sunday morning already promised to be a warm day. The usual crowd minus a few came out for Sunday School. Opening exercises ran the same way they do each week, we joined in song, Bible reading, announcements and then a special prayer for the children before they headed upstairs for their class. The adults gathered around the wooden table that traveled by boat from North America to South America. The table that back in Michigan served as dining room table folding down to seat three and folding out to seat nine. The table where we first started studying the book of John in Rio with people from the neighborhood. The table where we gather ladies one Saturday a month to fellowship over crafts and food.
One moment we were deep into our study of the passover and the next he was at the door seeking out a cup of cold water. His name was Christian. He came in quietly, not like some who storm the building demanding money or food. How ironic that he came bearing the name follower of Christ and yet looked so lost. A cup of cold water, an invitation to join the study, an open Bible and he was at the table with us receiving Living Water.
Twenty minutes later after hearing the gospel and quietly sharing his story of hunger and a hungry baby at home with no milk, he was on his way with his immediate needs met and a gospel shaped seed in the soil of his heart.
Planting seeds...it's what we do.
We leave the results with God.