Chapter 8. Back to Ireland? Patrick spent the next few months relaxing, catching up on what had been happening in the Roman world and getting reacquainted with his friends. At first, he was hesitant to return to his parents' country villa because of the painful memories it might bring. When he finally did accompany his parents to it, he fought back tears as he walked through the farm. "You must be mentally reliving the horror of that day," his father said softly.
The two of them knelt together, thanking God over and over again for his deliverance. During the next few months, Patrick avidly read the Scriptures. Although few Christians at that time had a copy of the Scriptures in their homes, Calpornius did, since he was a deacon. His Latin Bible was a yellowed, papyrus book bound in goatskin. "I'm glad to see you take such an interest in the Scriptures, Patrick. Before you were kidnapped, you didn't seem to have any interest in spiritual things." "You're right, Father.
God has done a real work in my life over the past six years. When I was in Ireland, I can't tell you how much I longed to be able to sit and read the Scriptures as I'm doing now." "That Bible originally belonged to your grandfather, Potitus. Did you know that?" "Really? No, I didn't. I wish grandfather were still alive today." "We all do. He would have really rejoiced to see this day." "I only wish now that my Latin were better," Patrick sighed.
"I'm really struggling with some of these words." "Yes, I can well understand. You missed your entire formal education because of being kidnapped," Calpornius sympathized. "Yes, that really hurts. Still, I'm glad that I know enough Latin to be able to read at all. Did you know that none of the Irish can read except for the Druids? Even their kings can't read." "I guess I hadn't given any thought to the matter," Calpornius replied. "Of course, they are savage barbarians. So what can we expect?
By the way, which parts of the Scriptures do you like the best?" "I'd have to say the Psalms. I see a lot of parallels between my sufferings and those of David. The Psalms give me a lot of comfort, particularly since I experience God's loving provisions firsthand." Patrick eagerly went every day to the morning and evening prayers at the village church. "Before you were kidnapped, you acted like church was a foreign place to you," Petronius, one of the presbyters, commented.
"But now, you've made it a second home." "You're right," Patrick admitted. "Six years ago, when I was in church, I could hardly wait for the services to be over. But now, I would be content to spend my entire days here. I love hearing the Scriptures read, I love praying with others, I love singing the Psalms." Petronius grinned. "I'm glad to hear that. You're always welcome here." "When I'm in church, I think a lot about David's words.
Oh, come, let us sing to the Lord, let us shout joyfully to the rock of our salvation, let us come before his presence with thanksgiving," Patrick explained. "Sometimes you don't realize what a privilege worship is until it's taken from you." "Yes, I'm sure that's the case," Patrick. "I'm not the only one who's noticed a change in you. The whole village is talking about it.
They remember you as a carefree, proud young man, as someone who had no inclination toward God at all." Petronius smiled at Patrick and put his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "I'm glad for the change." Patrick's parents allowed him a few months to relax after his return. However, one day they sat down with him to talk about his future. "You're far too old to study under a tutor now," Calpornius began, resting his arm on the top of the couch.
"I've asked around, and all the tutors say they'll only accept boys under the age of twenty." "But you're not too old to work as an apprentice and learn a trade," Conchessa added, as a servant combed her hair. "Once you've mastered a trade, you can think about marriage and raising a family. Rest assured that your father and I will give you all the help you need to put your life back together again." Patrick smiled at his parents. "Thank you so much for your love.
Actually, I've been thinking about all those things myself. However, let me think and pray about it some more, and perhaps in two or three days we can talk again. Would that be all right?" His parents assured him it would be fine. That night, before going to bed, Patrick prayed at length about his future. "Father, I'm at the crossroads of my life. Please give me direction." "What would you have me do?" During the night, God answered his prayer through another dream.
Unlike the others, this dream left Patrick shaking. The next morning, he reluctantly told his parents about the dream. "In my dream, I saw Victoricus," he began. "You mean the old hermit?" Calpornius asked. "Yes, the very one. Anyway, in my dream, Victoricus was coming from Ireland on a boat with a heavy leather satchel slung over his shoulder." "What was in the satchel?" Conchessa asked, leaning forward in her chair. "I'm getting to that in a minute," Patrick explained.
"Now, in the dream, Victoricus walked to our house, knocked at the door, and asked for me. You, Father, invited him inside. When I came into the room, he laid the satchel down at my feet. Naturally, I opened the satchel to see what was in it. To my surprise, it was full of letters." "Letters?" Conchessa interjected. "From whom?" "They were letters from people in Ireland." "But I thought you told me the Irish can't read or write," Calpornius objected. "That's right, they can't.
But you know how dreams are, they don't always fit reality. But please let me finish. In the dream, Victoricus handed me one of the letters. At first, I hesitated to open it, but then I broke the wax seal and began to read the letter aloud. It began, 'The Voice of the Irish.' Strangely, as I continued to read, I felt like I was hearing the voices of all of the men and women I knew back in Ireland.
Eventually, their voices drowned out my own voice as I was reading." "What were the people saying?" Conchessa asked anxiously. "They were all saying, as with one voice, 'We beg you, young man, come and walk among us again.' At that point, I was so shaken that I couldn't read any further. Then I awoke with a start. I looked around the darkened room and realized that it had only been a dream.
Yet, I know beyond any doubt that this was a dream sent by God." "How can you know that?" Calpornius disputed, jumping up from his chair. "Because he sent me dreams before. If it were not for his dreams, I wouldn't be standing here in front of you right now." Patrick then looked his parents squarely in their eyes and said, "God wants me to return to Ireland."