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I’ve dreamed of moments like these for probably all my life: of children smiling broadly at my feet, reaching out to life and hope; of women weeping softly as they receive all of Christ’s love, drinking in forgiveness they never knew existed.
I’ve dreamed of moments like these: of angels pouring ointment of love and peace and joy over eager masses of fathers and mothers and sons and daughters together.
I’ve dreamed: of moments like these for probably all my life - of standing, watching
the Spirit weave His way among this passionate people - such fresh, yet lumpy clay.
But now that I’m here, I cry - with joy, but also sadness. I can’t help but think of all those who I have not reached yet. I have this ball of fire in my hands and mouth and feet and I carry it forward as fast as I can from village to village, but time is running out for me…
In every village I enter, I wait for a crowd to gather around this half-baked, hunched stranger, then throw out a line and wave the hook in the sea of humanity. I bide my time as my bait of words and stick drawings in the sand burn through the waves of suspicion. PZANG! I catch one. More will follow.
This is my story. This is my life.
I hear my Father calling, just like He called me so long ago. Then, He told me to go. Now, He is telling me to come.
I don’t want to come! I want to stay here. These are my people, the ones I love. But I will come, because He knows best.
So when they take my body and stick me in ground, they’ll want to know what epitaph to etch into the bleak gray stone. My family will say things like, “EVANGELIST RENOWNED”, or “He answered the call”, or some such silly rubbish.
I want some substance on that stone. I want to be remembered, not for who I am, but for what He made me for and where I’ve gone. I want them to know that I’m perfectly happy to keep on doing up there in prayer what I’ve been doing down here in person, only I’ll have a more supportive group to help me on. (Ever heard of the cloud of witnesses?)
No, nothing fancy on my headstone please. Just do me a favor and chisel this:
Gone Fishing
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