I found today, in a fellow blogger's writings, a poem from one of my favorite authors/missionaries, Amy Carmichael.
Her autobiography is aptly titled "A Chance to Die". A young girl who was considering missions asked her what it meant to be a missionary, and this was Amy's response..."To be a missionary is a chance to die."
Oh Miss Amy. your long-ago life has changed me - and so many others. there is one place on earth i would love to go and that would be to the spot where your body long ago dissolved back into the gentle earth in Tamil Nadu, at the "Donavhur" home for children. the home you created for lost little ones, and where you gave your life to save them. Your prayer is my prayer too.
Father, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying,
We are praying for our children.
Keep them from the powers of evil
From the secret, hidden peril,
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand pluck them,
Holy Father, save our children.
From the worldling's hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Through life's troubled waters steer them,
Through life's bitter battle cheer them,
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.
And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.
..."eventide", a lovely old word for nightfall, is coming. my heart's cry too is "lead them home, Lord." home where they belong.