Missionary

Missionary

She had sought to bring good tidings

and salvation.

Seeing the photographs in magazines at Christmas,

the pleas to save the precious little ones

from starvation

with a lamb, or rabbits,

or a tidy sack of seeds—

a child herself, she took these things to heart

and prayed

and wondered at the partiality of God.

She had longed to minister to the ones

from whom surely God had turned away his face.

She would comfort all the children

and bring them food and faith

but when, at last, she was among them

battered, hungry, broken

the withered, silent babies

dying in their mother’s arms,

their empty eyes consumed her courage

and burned into her cheery,

robust health.

Some spirit within her faltered,

her fingers trembled

and in her heart

she was afraid.

For all her prayers she could do nothing,

no solace offer, no relief.

She might simply brush the flies from babies’ faces—

pray to comprehend one day

the immensity of suffering in the world of men

and wonder at her favour in the eyes of God.