Contributor Two Contributor Two
Contributor Two Contributor Two
When I was young, an innocent still
Ere sin had played a part
My mom would often plead with me
To give her Christ my heart.
My argument then, “I’ve done nothing bad,
I’ve never even had fun,
So why should I ask forgiveness now
For something I haven’t done?”
I wouldn’t accept the fact that sin
Was already born in me,
That something that happened to Adam and Eve
Still had its effect on me.
“When I am older and tasted those things
That you Christians label as sin,
I’ll have plenty of time to think on it then
And let your Savior come in.”
But now as I think of the years I spent,
I wonder at how I survived.
O, the patience the Lord must have had with me,
How He watched me and kept me alive.
God’s hand reached out so many times
To touch me on the shoulder—
To remind me of how time won’t wait
And I was getting older.
My days were full, no time to stop
To weigh each pro and con;
To think of things beyond “right now”
With good times rolling on.
I partied and played the world’s great games
And Satan laughed with glee,
But with many years of Mother’s prayers,
This wasn’t God’s plan for me.
He took my hand and gently led
Me back through wasted years.
He showed me burdens He’d picked up—
So many bitter tears.
He showed me places I had gone
Where Jesus couldn’t go;
But still He patiently waited for me,
Although I didn’t know.
I constantly seemed to play this game
Of hide and seek with Him;
He let me go where I chose to go
Tho’ the path was often dim.
My will was my own and I chose it thus,
To capture each tempting thrill,
But often alone, in the dark of the night,
Came that voice so small and still.
Sometimes I’d listen, more often not
And sort of shove it aside,
But still He waited with outstretched arms
For me to come inside.
The years rolled by, just as He warned
And older I have gotten,
And all those good times I laid by
Are now decayed and rotten.
Then, out of despair, I called to Him,
“I’m Yours at any cost.
I finally found you, Lord,” I cried;
Then He whispered, “It wasn’t I who was lost!”

— Betty Webster Bishop
Hampton, Florida