and we watched the sun come to rise.
The glorious colors that flooded my soul,
God created there for my eyes.
Then I shouted a prayer
“Father please speak to me.
Tell me what should I do with my life?”
My hope was to hear His voice loud and
clear, out of heaven with power and might.
But all that I heard was the distant call of a
gaggle of geese in flight.
Later that day, the pastor asked me to pray
about teaching a Sunday school class.
No need, I said, I already know. Thanks, but
no thanks — I’ll pass.
That winter I warmed from the fireplace
glow looking out at the cold winter night.
The moonbeams danced on the fresh fallen snow.
Such a quiet and peaceful sight.
Then I whispered a prayer into the night air,
“Father, please let me hear Your call.”
But all that I heard was that old pendulum
clock as it ticked away time on the wall.
The next morning the pastor stopped by
just to ask, “Would I join him on visitation calls?”
I said, “I would if I could but I can’t today,
there is a huge sale going on at the mall.”
In springtime I walked down the village streets.
Flowers blooming about everywhere,
A soft gentle breeze passing through lilac
trees gave a perfumed aroma to the air.
With my face toward the skies, I closed my
eyes and prayed, “Father, I’m still waiting to hear.”
But not a single word came as a soft April
rain washed my cheek of one small tear.
The pastor asked me that day if he could
place my name as a church board nominee.
But I had to decline for there’s no doubt
in my mind, that takes someone much wiser than me.
That summer I lay in a green grass glade
and gazed up at that vast starry sky.
I prayed thank you to the One that created
it all and allowed me to observe this great sight.
Then right then and there I again breathed
a prayer asking God to make use of me.
I just sat and waited for an answer to come,
but not a single word was to be.
Just the soft gentle moan of the summer
breeze as it flowed through the tamarack trees.
The pastor gave such a great sermon today,
about angels of which we are unaware
He said they could give us a message from God.
Anytime, anyplace, anywhere.
So it gave me new hope that maybe someday
an angel might stand before me
Or do you suppose one already has?
And I’ve just been too blind to see.
Some years ago, our pastor was leaving for another ministry. I was asked to compose a poem and read it on the last day of his being with us. He is a very special man and a real mentor to me.
— GEORGE GUNCKEL