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MY MISSION FIELD.... A poem that will encourage the women to be "keepers at home."
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, eleven 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 these 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 women stand with me answering your call, the sacrifice is great. Women give way to another's voice, pulling them away from their homes, far from the quiver, full of dust."
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 lie down at night in peace, for sacrificial love you have given to make the world better. 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 obvious way?"
"Child, my sweet child" God spoke once more. I annoited you to this work, to the HIGH CALLING of MOTHERHOOD, to show our children the need for my love." "LORD, I sought out, 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 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 around my shoulders, children at my side, I prepared breakfast. |
