“Jesus in My Heart”

The next day seemed very long, and I wasn’t allowed to see my father until 5:00 P.M. I was not very worried about him because he had come around, and I thought he would just keep on getting better. The nun had said, “Tomorrow he better,” and she ought to know if anyone did.

Besides, if it hadn’t been for his illness, my prayer would never have been answered. Now all that I longed for was going to happen. Grandpa was coming—at least, I was pretty sure it would be Grandpa, for he would not want Gran to come alone, and one of them would have to stay with the chickens. He and my father would talk and be friends—I was quite sure of that. Everyone liked Grandpa, and he would see at once that Daddy was a good man now. How could he think anything else when Daddy had nearly died saving Conchita? And then, of course, Daddy would come back to Pheasant Cottage when he was better and we’d all be one happy family at last!

The time seemed to pass very slowly while we waited for the reply to the telegram. It was lonely in our apartment without Daddy, and I longed for someone to talk to. I suddenly remembered the old woman. I’d never been to tell her what happened, and I knew she’d be interested. I waited until siesta time, and then I slipped out and crossed the main road into the shade of the eucalyptus trees.

I had thought the old woman might be asleep, too, but she wasn’t. She was over on the rough grass near the olive grove with her goat. I trotted along the dirt track and joined her under the trees, and her wrinkled old face lit up when she saw me, as though I was a very dear friend. She started talking rapidly, and, although I could not understand, I knew she was saying nice things. I looked up at her.

“Mi padre,” I said, “muy malo.”

I had heard those words many times—on the beach, at the inn, and in the hospital, and I knew they meant “my father—very ill.” Now those words had a tremendous effect. The old lady was very upset and invited me in for pan and leche, which I knew meant bread and milk. I had felt too restless for dinner, so now I was hungry. I smiled and nodded and slipped my hand into hers, and we wandered back to the hut, with the goat following behind, occasionally butting me in the back in quite a friendly way.

The hut was bare and clean as before, but there was no sign of the grandchild. I was glad about this, for I wanted to be alone with the old woman. But I said nothing at first, for she was busy heating goat’s milk on a little stove and cutting slices of bread. I looked around the simply furnished room while I enjoyed my meal. On an upturned box covered with a clean cloth lay the Bible. She sat watching me as I ate, smiling at me, and I wondered why she seemed to love me so, because I was quite an ordinary-looking child. But whatever the reason, I felt very welcome in her home, and as soon as I’d finished eating and drinking, I went over to the Bible and put my hand on it and repeated, slowly and clearly, the words she had said to me: “Jesus es mi Amigo.”

She smiled even more, and then she pointed upward, laid her hand over her heart, and said, “Jesus en mi corazón.”

I stared, for once again I had understood. Corazón meant “heart,” and I’d heard it at least twenty times in the last few hours. My father had had a heart attack. I’d heard about them before, because I once asked him why he swallowed so many pills, and why he walked so slowly, and why he didn’t come swimming, and he’d told me that he had a weak heart and had to be careful. But when he’d seen little Conchita sailing off toward the ocean, he had not been careful. That was why he was in the hospital, and that was why Grandpa was coming.

Jesus en mi corazón. This seemed to describe what I’d been feeling. I suddenly remembered my Bible at home and the picture in the front of it—Jesus knocking at a door with weeds growing all over it. One day I’d asked Gran what door it was, and who He was trying to visit, and she’d told me that it was a famous picture of Jesus knocking at the door of the human heart.* I hadn’t been very interested, but now I suddenly felt that a light had shone on that picture.

“Come in,” I whispered. “Oh, please, please come in!” Then I realized that He’d been there ever since I’d asked Him to be my Friend, teaching me to care more about other people, making me want to know more about God, and making me happier. He hadn’t waited for me to put it into words; He’d just come to me as soon as I’d wanted Him and cried out to Him. I suddenly felt strong and glad and alive. I sat listening quietly while the old woman murmured on in Spanish, and though I couldn’t understand a word, it all sounded very peaceful and reassuring. After a while I kissed her and went home, for perhaps the telegram would have arrived and it would soon be time to visit Daddy.

The telegram had arrived. All the children were running in all directions looking for me. Pepito saw me first and ran to meet me, his black eyes sparkling. He seized my hand and dragged me to the kitchen, where Lola produced the envelope and they all gathered around while I opened it.

“STARTING IMMEDIATELY STOP ARRIVING MALAGA 10:15 THURSDAY STOP GRANDPA.”

I read it over and over. Tomorrow by midday Grandpa would be here. With much talk and waving of hands, Lola made me understand that she had an amigo in Malaga who would meet him and put him on the bus, and we would all go wait for him in the market square.

I could not wait to show my father the telegram. Lola had already been to the hospital to inquire, and they had said that he was better, so I set out alone, clutching the precious paper and counting the hours. It was nearly 5:00; Grandpa would be here by lunchtime—about nineteen hours—and I’d be asleep for about nine of them. I climbed the cobbled streets to the hospital and found the kind old nun who said, “Come now. Your father—he better.”

He really did look a little better, although he still got tired quickly if he talked too much, so I talked to him instead and showed him the telegram. I told him how lonely I was without him, and that I’d been to see the old woman and feasted on goat’s milk and hot brown bread.

He smiled. “You do know how to look after yourself, don’t you, Lucita?” he said. “What did you and the old lady talk about this time?”

I looked down shyly.

“Tell me, Lucy. I like hearing about the old lady.”

I looked up at him. “She said, ‘Jesus en mi corazón.’ I knew what that meant, because they all talk about your corazón. It means ‘heart,’ doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes. But perhaps not quite the same kind of heart.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant but he seemed rather breathless, so I talked about Grandpa’s arrival the next day. He seemed really glad that he’d be seeing him, and when the nun came to take me away I skipped home without a care in the world because everything was going to be all right. I ran on the beach before going in for supper at the inn and sat on a rock watching the colors on the sea while the sun went down behind the hills. I prayed that my father’s heart would get better quickly, and that he and my grandfather would become friends so we could all live happily ever after like one family.

It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. There was so much to think about—Daddy at the hospital, Grandpa probably already in London, and Jesus in my heart. I knew He had lifted me to the safe shelter of His love, just as Lola would lift Conchita to the safety and comfort of her arms whenever she was frightened or upset.

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* “The Light of the World” by W. Holman Hunt.