How has God put you together to encourage or to comfort others?

When someone is needy or hurting, do you consistently give the gift of your physical presence, even when you are unsure what to say? Do you allow your nearness to express what mere words cannot?

Does your baking elicit moans of mouth-watering pleasure when your cakes, cookies or brownies mingle with others’ taste buds? Does dropping off a treat to someone who’s needy or hurting bring delight to your heart?

Do you select a grace-saturated book and send it, with a personal note, to someone who’s suffering or grieving a loss?

Do you write a reassuring note in which you share just the right Bible verse, then exercise a knack for explaining it in a way that isn’t perceived as preachy or superficial?

Do you exercise a ministry of helps and fulfill a necessary chore for someone who isn’t able to do it, such as mowing the lawn when the husband/dad of the household is in the hospital?

I’m melancholy, prone to be self-absorbed, especially when smack-dab-in-the-middle of a depressive episode. Knowing that, a long time ago I asked the Lord to increase my sensitivity to others who suffer, to show me how I can best serve them. He typically nudges me to write the hurting person a poem. It’s the most personal gift I can possibly give someone, since the words stem from my heart, not just from my mind.

What follows are three poems I wrote to hurting persons many years ago. These rhymes wouldn’t win a poetry contest, but they do say, in effect, that I was thinking about and praying for the other person.

____________

Pat Bradley, 50-something-year-old administrative assistant for CIU’s Youth and Family Ministry program at Columbia International University, became ill on a Friday and died within a couple of days in December of 2001. Pat had not been sick prior to the sudden onset of symptoms. I knew her rather well since her office was across the hall from mine. Her husband, Steve, also served full-time at CIU. I couldn’t imagine his shock and pain, and I didn’t know what to say to him. I wrote this poem for Steve as a way of honoring her memory. Later, he was effusive in his thanks for it. He said I had captured her character and strengths accurately.

WHO PAT WAS

Who Pat was is what we miss.

A lady described like this:

thoughtful, with a caring heart.

She made servanthood an art.

Sensitive to others’ needs.

Diligent with mundane deeds.

Wisdom of her words? Immense!

Her Ph.D.? In “Common Sense.”

Advised many through the years

by listening with her heart, not ears.

Not only her sons were mothered:

all she knew, she “one-anothered.”

Meek in spirit, not pretentious.

Easy-going, not contentious.

Creative as an organizer.

Priceless to her supervisor.

Who can calculate her worth?

She leaves a vacuum on the earth.

Though none of us understands,

Christ welcomes Pat with nail-scarred hands.

We mourn. Losing her seems grim,

but Pat’s all smiles, praising Him.

 ____________

The wife of a faculty colleague at CIU gave birth to a Down’s Syndrome son, almost 20 years after the birth of their healthy daughter. They did not know in advance that he would be born with Down’s Syndrome. I wanted to let them know I was thinking about them and praying for them. I wrote this poem along with a brief note (August, 2000).

GOD’S BEST

 Both joy and hurt vie for a place

within your heart today.

Both smiles and tears form on your face

when your son is on display.

You lean upon the Lord’s rich grace,

and make His strength your stay.

 

I cannot say “I understand.”

I do not know your pain.

I can’t convey how God has planned

this circumstance for gain.

He seldom lets us see His hand;

to look for it is vain.

 

Yet I will pledge to intercede

for inward peace and rest;

for you to view him as a seed

who’ll sprout into “God’s best,”

for God to meet your every need

and show you how you’re blessed.

_______________

He was in his upper 80s, a former missionary and pastor. Known as a prayer warrior, Ken Kepler had always been extremely fervent and disciplined in his prayer life. His wife had passed a year or two before, and not once in his decades of marriage had he failed to pray with her before they turned in for the night. Our pastor occasionally asked Ken to lead the congregation in prayer. I can’t adequately describe the sensation that overwhelmed me when I heard him pray. I usually wept. It was as if I could see and hear the forces of Satan fleeing the sanctuary as he prayed. As a result, I asked him to intercede regularly for my two preadolescent boys. A couple of times I visited him with updated prayer requests. I gave him photos of Mark and Stephen so he could picture them when he prayed for them by name. In 2021, I am believing that God will keep answering Ken’s long-ago prayers for my precious grown sons, now 46 and 44.

Ken had been asking the Lord to take him home. He couldn’t understand why his prayer for that had not yet been answered. He was more feeble physically. He missed his dear wife. He couldn’t get around much any more, much less function in a public ministry role. I visited him in the hospital on Christmas day in the late 1980s. I gave him this poem as a way of thanking him for his ministry of intercession and to explain why I viewed him as a spiritual hero. I told him his intercessions were too important for God to take him home yet. I assured him that Christ’s church can replace preachers and missionaries a whole lot easier than she can replace intercessors.

HERO OF THE FAITH

Your prayers are presents

that money can’t obtain.

They’re opened every day

and given for our gain.

Not gifts displayed

for everyone to see.

Not the type found

beneath a Christmas tree.

Not on the shelves

at Wal-Mart or Sears.

Rather, gifts wrapped

in brokenness and tears.

 

Your life sets a pace

for others to follow.

You heeded God’s call;

your years were not hollow.

Prayer is your stay,

the Bible is your sword.

You’re loyal to the church,

the bride of the Lord.

Some leaders serve up front,

receiving  public acclaim

for powerful preaching

in a risen Savior’s name.

But you serve on your knees

when no one else is around.

Fruitful intercession! 

Where you kneel is “holy ground.”

You have finished well.

These words are overdue.

You’re a “hero of the faith.”

I thank the Lord for you.

 

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Who in your sphere of influence needs encouraging or comforting words? Can you think of a church member, a retired pastor or missionary, or someone in your neighborhood who recently experienced a setback or a loss? How has God uniquely created you and prepared you to buoy the spirits of another person? Perhaps you cannot write a poem, but He has given you talents, experiences and gifts that qualify you to reach out in an original way.

If He can employ this so very introverted man to comfort others, He can certainly use you in a similar fashion.

What are you waiting for?