Edith Margaret Clarkson – birth, Jun 8, 1915

“So Send I You”

So send I you to labor unrewarded,
To serve unpaid, unloved, unsought, unknown,
To bear rebuke, to suffer scorn and scoffing,
So send I you to toil for me alone.

So send I you – to loneliness and longing,
With heart a-hungering for the loved and known;
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one,
So send I you  – to know my love alone.

So send I you – to leave your life’s ambitions,
To die to dear desire, self-will resign,
To labor long and love where men revile you,
So send I you – to lose your life in mine.

Edith Margaret Clarkson was born this date 6/8/1915 at Melville, Saskatchewan, Canada.  She wrote “So Send I You” and God of Creation, All-Powerful.  She died 3/17/2008 in Toronto. “So Send I You” has been called the greatest missionary hymn of the twentieth century.

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What Do You See?

Unbelief  is  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder. – eab, 10/16/2008

Notes for Cosmology section of Systematic Theology class, Union Bible College, Westfield, Indiana,

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Horse Sense

We’ve missed something, who missed the age,

When horse, or horse and carriage, were the rage.

Be he black or white or shades of beige

(This main convenience oe’r stone and sage)

He/she had a beating heart in their ribcage

(not merely wheels, gears, and occasional gauge)

True, driven or not they needed their oaty “wage”

And you arrived in town at a slower stage

But Wesley (and others) astride, read many a page.

Ah,  We’ve missed something, who missed that age. -eab, 3/18/08

 

Written in Westfield, IN

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Crust to Dust

Fearfully, wonderfully made is true,

For the lad a-fork a burro’s back,

Who slept last night on a coffee sack,

In some poor, distant, Andes ranch shack.

 

It’s true for the bluest blood of you,

Aboard a yacht, who passively dine

On caviar, lobster, and old wine,

Always thinking of “me,” “my,” and “mine.”

 

Social animals of highest crust,

And dregs of men smeared with labor’s dust,

Are all alike, all made in fearful ways,

Which ought (everyday) us to amaze. -eab, 4/9/08

 

Written after visiting the Dickinons in Bogata, Colombia

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The Meek

Men have lied and killed, been so cruel,

To have a few more miles to rule,

Thinking lands, were cruelties worth;

Poor souls.  The  meek  shall inherit the earth!  -eab, 2/13/08

 

Written at Westfield, Indiana

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God or Gold

You will serve God, or you will serve gold.

Make your contrary assertions ever so bold,

And claim the truth has not been told.

But the love of money is the root of all evil,

The love of gold leads directly to the devil.

Gold can be shaped in various known forms,

It can appear average, or far from the norms,

One is pulled to the sciences, another to the arts,

One is lulled to amalgamations, one leaves things in parts,

One seeks gold directly, another seems it to “hate,”

But gold’s the one attraction of sinners, early or late, 

And, you will serve God, or you will serve gold. – eab, 5/21/08

 

Written in Westfield, Indiana

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No God?

“What you see is what you get;

Man is not special – he’s just another clod.

Molecules met in ‘soup’ – by mere chance.

Planet’s revolving?  Just happenstance.”

‘The fool hath said in his heart there’s no God”

                                                – eab, 8/7/08 (Psa 14.1 & 53.1)

 

Written at Westfield, Indiana

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Small Difference

It must be quite a “lark,” gondola to embark,

And ride in the clear, evening sky.

They seem very free, different from you and me

Floating, looking down from on high.

 

The next time you see (where these happen to be)

These, like some society gent,

Think – the air is right, not in stormy fright.

Time was chosen for this event.

 

A bit later or soon, they will leave the balloon.

How different are we from them there?

(Though giddy with mirth, they still must come to earth)  

 – Just fancy fabric and hot air.  – eab, 9/30/08

 

Written after seeing hot air balloons pass over while working on children’s gym set.

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Church

A certain kind of people,

Meeting under a tall steeple,

Imagine that that’s the church.

Tall walls do not a church make.

New birth is more than a handshake;

Which these find out when in a lurch.

 

The church is made of redeemed hearts,

And though they meet in various parts,

Under clear sky, under a huge tree;

Worship, that’s why we gather,

Even in cold, wet weather.

Church is you and me.         -eab,  10/1/08

 

Written at Westfield,Indiana

 

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Birthday Wishes – Tom Sproles

T              Today a young man turns sixty years;

H             Half that time we’ve known him, it appears.

O             Operating a small printing press,

M             Ministering to rich, and those less,

A              “Ain’t going preacher,” was said by some

S             Sleepy souls, after the van had come.

 

L              Loving man to Paula, his good wife.

 

S             Stably married decades of life,

P             Papa to their four nice kids, all grown,

R             Reaching to grandkids, these four have “sown.”

O             (Onions are part of any good meal.)

L              Lord’s minister, who likes to help heal,

E             Enjoyed seeing homes of Shea* and Ike.**

S             Sincere “Bests” – to a guy we all like. – eab, 10/1/08

 

The Bryans and Sproles visited * George Beverly Shea’s homesite when he held a meeting in Kingston and we visited ** Dwight D. Eisenhower’s homesite when he held a meeting in Kansas. My wife and I first met the Sproles in 1976 in Tennessee.

 

 

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