I found this poem this morning and it made me cry. So often I feel guilty because I’m not “doing more”. In my heart, I know what I do at home is the most important thing.
A MISSIONARY’S VISION
After marriage God called me to the mission field –
A little bundle needing all my care,
A disciple in touch with my life, obedient to all he hears.
Then came some more all in a row.
Everywhere I went, six little arrows in tow.
God had to call me again to His mission field.
I answered, “To China, to Africa, to Israel, oh where?”
His voice was clear, soft and gentle. My ministry arranged –
“My child, you are to polish our arrows,
Preparing them for My call to spread my
Words of life for other nations to see.”
“Lord,” I cried, “Loneliness surrounds my soul,
No other woman stands with me answering your call.
The sacrifice is great.”
Women give way to another’s voice, pulling them away
from their home, far from the quiver.”
Once more I pleaded, “May I go too, Lord, I feel the call
To share with the lost, Life giving words,
To feed the hungry a satisfying meal.”
“My child,” Jesus replied, “You share with your
children salvation and truth.
Feed them meals under your roof.
Discipline them, train them and then lie down in peace,
For sacrificial love have you given to make the world right.
Arise in the morning, open My book,
Teach them into My eyes they must look.”
“Yes, Lord, I replied, “But should I serve you in a more
“Child, my sweet child,” God spoke once more.
I anointed you to do this work – the high calling of Motherhood.
To show our children the need for my love.”
“Lord,”, I sought out, still not fully convinced,
“Should I sew for those in thread barren clothes,
a Dorcas, a Martha?” “Sit at my feet, my child, listen to me.
Your daughter needs dresses, your sons warm shirts,
The button of your husband’s coat still lies on the table. Pick up your mantle, the rod of Aaron.
Lead my women back to their home.
“Yes, Lord.” Filled and content, I took my position in God’s mission field.
Hungry faces graced my bedside.
Clothed in God’s mantle, children at my side,
I prepared breakfast.
By PAULA MULLER