There is an age long forgotten story, when obedient Christians packed up their worldly belongings into a pine casket and sailed the oceans to a distant land. Before its ultimate use, the constantly visible casket served as a daily seal of the missionaries’ commitment to take up Jesus’ cross among the poor and the lost.
Before their ships would sail, these Christian servants would scribble with tears and ink, their own last letters. These letters were penned in Bibles and on weathered parchment in a desperate attempt to explain their divine compulsion to give up everything and everyone to serve the lost and the hurting. At her final farewell, surrounded by parents and siblings, a twenty-year-old single lady would hand her father her last letter, she would tearfully embrace, board the ship and sail off never to return.
Karen Watson was a young Christian worker, lately murdered in Far East because of her bold service to the Lord. At her funeral, Karen’s last letter was read by her pastor:
You should only be opening this letter in the event of my death.
When God calls there are no regrets. I tried to share my heart with you as much as possible, my heart for the nations. I wasn’t called to a place; I was called to Him. To obey was my objective, to suffer was expected, His glory my reward, His glory my reward…
The missionary heart:
Cares more than some think is wise
Risks more than some think is safe
Dreams more than some think is practical
Expects more than some think is possible
I was called not to comfort or to success, but to obedience…
There is no joy outside of knowing Jesus and serving Him.
I love you and my church family.
In His care,