Monday, December 15, 2008

Where are the men?




There is a thing, that has me concerned
As we travel here and there;
Sometimes that burdens, and stirs my heart
And makes me cry out in prayer.
You see I’ve entered, many church
On a bright Sunday morn
To meet few, sweet elderly ladies
Their faces all leathered and worn
Their silvery heads, and teary smiles
Brighten the near empty pew
While beside them playing, with crayons of cars
Bobs an illigit grandchild, or two.
After the service, they gather around
Sharing pictures of all of their kin
And I can honestly say, that I have a hard time
Distinguishing a her from a him!!!
Now they say that it’s really, not that hard to tell
Who’s Jill and who’s Jack.
It’s just a matter, of closely observing
On which side the earring is at.
My anguishing heart, cries out in despair
“Oh God, where are the men?”

On Wednesday night, it’s not much different
Nor on Saturday’s visitation.
A few young ladies, and a few old maids
Respond to the pastor’s invitation.
And that’s not all, the dilemma continues;
We’re asked to speak to the teens
I’m met by blank stares, or rebellious glares
And “whatever” means
The girls look like guys, with cropped hair and low waist
Chewing gum like a cud
Their faces are gooped up, with colorful paste
Or did they fall in the mud???
The guys are so “cute”, as they “pony” their hair
Teasing with gel the curls
With earrings and necklaces, bracelets and chains
Trying to look like the girls.
It is a wonder our homes are falling apart???
I sigh at the sad, sad condition
The wives are bossy, rebellious and hard
Refusing to learn submission.
So I stop to reflect, the shape of our nation
Being destroyed so by sin,
An I cannot help, to cry out once more
“Oh God, where are the men?”

If you’d but stop, Look around the world
To the place away overseas
You’d see a Missionary, a man of God
Down upon their knees.
He’s so tired and footsore, he’s heartsick and weary
So heavy is his load!
He cannot at, this moment see
Light at the end of the road.
But do you know what he is doing?
He’s praying for you, my friend!
Can’t you hear him, as he cries
“Oh God, where are the men?”
The harvest is plenteous, as Jesus said
The laborers are so few
Does this not touch? Does this not concern?
Does this not bother you???
Would you arise, and be the first
To boldly come today
And willingly answer God’s sweet call
And very humbly say:
“Dear Lord Jesus, Take my life
Use me, Here I am,
My all, I at your altar lay

O God, make me a man!”

Written by Lawanda Doolittle-Duarte; July 24th, 2002

1 comment:

Lauren said...

This was a beautiful poem! I really enjoyed reading it, did one of you write it yourself?

I found your blog a while back and have been blessed by reading about what God is doing through your family in Brazil. Keep up the good work and may Jesus Christ be with you in all that you do!

In Christ,
Lauren Ashley