The Lord does not let the righteous go hungry, but he thwarts the craving of the wicked … The name of the righteous is used in blessings, but the name of the wicked will rot … Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out … Whoever heeds discipline shows the way to life, but whoever ignores correction leads others astray … What the wicked dread will overtake them; what the righteous desire will be granted. When the storm has swept by, the wicked are gone, but the righteous stand firm forever … The fear of the Lord adds length to life, but the years of the wicked are cut short. The prospect of the righteous is joy, but the hopes of the wicked come to nothing. The way of the Lord is a refuge for the blameless, but it is the ruin of those who do evil. The righteous will never be uprooted, but the wicked will not remain in the land. Proverbs 10:3, 7, 9, 17, 24-25, 27-30
Ten years away from home create a fog over memories. Upon returning to the small town of Águas Claras, Valdir, now a thirty-year-old man, felt like an archaeologist of his own childhood. The town had changed, but the ghosts of the past remained. And no ghost was larger than that of Ernani Gusmão.
Ernani had been the most powerful man in town. The owner of the meatpacking plant, the largest employer in the region, he ruled Águas Claras with an iron fist. Valdir remembered him as a feared figure, a man whose desire seemed unshakable. If Ernani wanted a piece of land, he got it. If an employee challenged him, he was destroyed. His prosperity seemed to mock the idea of justice. The fear he inspired, however, was the terror that would come upon him. He lived securely in his wealth but never in sincerity. His ways were perverse, and everyone knew it, but no one dared to speak.
Valdir’s first stop was the cemetery, to visit his grandparents’ graves. As he walked among the headstones, he passed the opulent mausoleum of the Gusmão family. The marble was imposing, but it was covered in dry leaves and cobwebs. Ernani had passed away five years ago. Valdir realized something strange: in two days in town, no one had mentioned his name. It was as if, after his death, a conspiracy of silence had swallowed him. It was as if the name of that man had never existed. Ernani’s name had not just rotted; it had been buried under the weight of collective relief.
His second stop was the old library in the town square, his refuge during his teenage years. There, he found a stark contrast. On the entrance wall, there was a simple, polished bronze plaque: “Jorge Valença Municipal Library - In memory of a man who planted trees and ideas.”
Jorge Valença. The name brought an immediate warmth to Valdir’s heart. Jorge had been the opposite of Ernani. A history teacher and owner of a small bookstore, he was a man of modest means but of unshakable integrity. He walked in sincerity, and because of it, he walked securely. Everyone in town knew him not for what he had, but for what he was. He treasured knowledge and taught the path of life to generations of young people, including Valdir.
As he browsed the books, Valdir began to see the “everlasting foundation” that Jorge had left behind. The librarian, a young woman who had been Jorge’s student, spoke enthusiastically about the new book club. The gardener who tended the square was a former-troubled student whom Jorge had taken under his wing. The hope of the righteous results in joy, and the joy planted by Jorge was still blossoming throughout the town.
In the afternoon, Valdir walked to the riverbank. He remembered a great storm, years ago, that had almost flooded the town. The flood had destroyed several businesses in the lower part of town, including one of Ernani Gusmão’s front sawmills. Ernani’s empire, built on greed, had no roots.
But Jorge’s house, which stood on a small hill, remained intact. And Valdir remembered his teacher, on the day after the flood, not worrying about his own possessions, but organizing work crews to help the homeless, his righteous soul fed not by food but by the purpose of serving and helping.
At the end of the day, sitting on a bench in the square, under the shade of an ipê tree he had seen Jorge plant, Valdir understood. The fear of the Lord, which Jorge lived out in his humility and service, indeed prolongs days—not necessarily on the calendar, but in the legacy, in the blessed memory that refuses to die. Ernani’s hope, placed in his own strength, died with him. Jorge’s hope, placed in God and in people, became the joy of an entire town.
The powerful man who perverted his ways was, in the end, “known” and erased. The simple man who walked in sincerity left a foundation that neither time nor storms could shake. And Valdir, breathing the air of his hometown, felt deeply grateful, not for the man everyone had feared, but for the man whose legacy had taught him how to live.
(Made with AI)
This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom
https://books2read.com/u/3knogL
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