Probably my all-time favorite poem was written by Robertson McQuilkin, former President of Columbia International University. His wife was suffering from Dementia and he decided he wanted to care for her, as she had always cared for him..all the way. It expresses my strongest desire; to finish strongly for Christ.

Let this plaintive, but Godly cry permeate your soul as it surely has mine. Each step we take is one day closer to our real home. Will we finish strong?

“It’ s sundown Lord. The shadows of my life stretch back into the dimness of years long spent.
I fear not death, for that grim foe betrays himself at last, thrusting me forever into life; life with You, unsoiled and free. But I do fear. I fear the Dark Spectre may come too soon-or do I mean too late?
That I should end before I finish or finish, but not well.
That I should stain Your honor, shame your Name, grieve Your loving heart.
Few, they tell me finish well…Lord, let me get home before dark.

The darkness of a spirit grown mean and small, fruit shriveled on the vine, bitter to the taste of my companions, burden to be borne by those brave few who love me still.
No, Lord. Let the fruit grow lush and sweet, a joy to all who taste; Spirit-sign of God at work, stronger, fuller, brighter at the end.
Lord, let me get home before dark.

The darkness of tattered gifts, rust-locked, half-spent or ill-spent, a life that once was used by God now set aside.
Grief for glories gone or fretting for a task God never gave. Mourning in the hollow chambers of memory. Gazing on the faded banners of victories long gone. Cannot I run well until the end? Lord, let me get home before dark!

The outer me decays-I do not fret or ask reprieve.
The ebbing strength but weans me from Mother Earth and grows me up for heaven.
I do not cling to shadows cast by immortality. I do not patch the scaffold let to build the real eternal me.
I do not clutch about me my cocoon, vainly struggling to hold hostage a free spirit pressing to be born.
But will I reach the gate in lingering pain, body distorted, grotesque?
Or will it be a mind wandering un-tethered among light fantasies or grim terrors?
Of Your grace Father, I humbly ask…Let me get home before dark.

Terry