I wrote this poem about my mommy. If you knew her you would understand my sentiments, if you did not, I hope it blesses you anyway!

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Rocking Chair Missionary

Daughter, sister, wife, aunt and more; mother and grandmother she filled those spaces, each in their respective times, each with their explicit graces.

But the role I presume her crown rests upon, seeded from within and came from the throne.

Sister Pollard to most, just mom to me and you, bruised and scarred resolved to live life through.

Widowed so young her pain so great, as we watched night after night on the Lord she did wait.

He gave her a heart, a vision and mission: suffer the little ones my words, they will listen.

Her sorrow to tears, her tears into joy, her heart she poured out into each girl and boy.

A few hours a week she could teach little minds, of Noah and Moses and sins left behind.

They sat on her lap in the chair she did rock, time was so short her prayers raced the clock.

Her legacy grew with each passing year, come to her nursery you’ll find love and grace here.

She fed and diapered and disciplined as well, but once on the lap the story of Jesus she’d tell.

I wonder how many have sat on her knee, will they surround her in Heaven, will we get to see?

She never relented, surely now where she abides, she is requesting revival for God to turn tides.

Does He let her see fervent prayers answered, and how, a multitude of hands have not turned from the plow.

From out of the church nursery and her Rocking Chair Missions, how many more souls carry on her traditions.

Turning pain into serving and lack into riches, so many babies nurtured have been called to the trenches.

Across the waters she could not go her desires were pure, she gave all that she had for the work to endure.

She never once stopped in her prayers for us all, she prayed through the nights our lives God would call.

The years passed by quickly her mission fulfilled, she went to the Lord, her wounds have been healed.

In that city of gold, I doubt she is rocking; I imagine her singing and skipping, not walking.

Her mantle has fallen, on whom shall it rest, with all your heart love God and give life your best!