Poem to a Weary Missionary

No matter how difficult the road may become, always remember WHO has traveled it and will always be traveling it with you.

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Each step felt like a thousand,

Another person dropped.

Again no one had listened,

The work, I felt, had stopped.

Like many servants before,

My situation not unique,

I fell to my knees, my heart cried out,

It was comfort I did seek.

While on my knees I cried out loud,

My despair was plain to see.

I wept, and like the Son before, asked

“Why hast Thou forsaken me?”

I finished and for a moment

I waited for a light,

But the moment then turned to minutes

So I retired for the night.

I dreamt I was in a meadow,

The distance held mountain peaks.

A man then sat before me

And then proceeded to speak:

“You seem to be downtrodden,

Your spirit appears distraught.

You feel you have been abandoned,

In the snares of doubt, you’re caught.”

He asked me, “What’s the reason?”

His eyes were locked on mine.

“I no longer feel his presence,” I said,

“It’s like somebody cut His line.

I haven’t seen a baptism,

No success has come when I knocked.

I’ve tried,” I said, “to do my best

But the windows of heaven seem locked.”

He looked away a moment

Then turned back towards me.

His eyes now glistened with unshed tears

Unashamed for me to see.

“I cried just like you did tonight

When my father was hidden from view.

But being alone was necessary

So I would know how to comfort you.”

                    My eyes were suddenly opened,

                    My heart then filled with grief.

                    I cried aloud to the Lord my God

                    “Help Thou my unbelief!”

He then embraced me in his arms,

His love was strong and pure.

“My sister,” He said, “you are doing well.

Now to the end you must endure.

You haven’t moved any mountains.

The sea you did not part.

But you have power alike to theirs,

You can reach out, heart to heart.

I have entrusted you this power,

The field is ready to reap.

The work you have been called to do

Is to gather my lost sheep.

But the numbers do not matter

If only one conversion you do.

You will not leave a failure

If that one convert is you.”

He finished with a smile

And wiped my teary eyes,

“I stayed faithful to my Father’s work,

Now go, and do thou likewise.”

As I watched Him walk away

I awoke with a start.

My faith renewed, I fell to my knees

And pledged to do my part.

Now as we go knocking

In the heat or bitter cold,

I know, like the Parable of the Talents,

At judgment I want to be told:

“I called you to go labor

And find thy wayward friends.

Well done, my dear good servant,

Thou hast been faithful to the end.”

😀 😀 😀

-Sista Carroll