Note: I would like to present this essay as a memoriam to Clara and her husband, Stanley.
If my oldest sister, Clara, were able to be my guest author, I know she would be. But she can’t tell her own story. She and her husband were killed in a car crash in November 1975. I know Clara would want everyone to know of God’s calling in her life, and of the struggle she had within herself to obey God’s call. Clara and Stanley went, eventually, to Senegal, where they spent ten years, and where three of their four children were born. The battle she describes in her poem took place during her Bible school days. Clara knew she had been called to go to the continent of Africa. She had known most of her life that somewhere in that land, God would take her. But she fought against it. She had a beautiful soprano voice. She could have become a singer. She had remarkable artistic abilities. She could have taken up art for a career. She had many career choices. But deep down she knew God wanted her to be a missionary. 
Now, hear from Clara:
A brief picture of a battle is seen in this poem, as a young woman fights against God’s call to go to the mission field to which she knows she has been called. The battle raged as night came down,
And brought her peace to all who would accept.
The moonlight reigned and spread her silver crown
O'er all the earth as life in most parts slept.The battle raged as by a bedside, one
Who fought with God resisted o'er and o'er.
'Twas hours, yes days, since battle had begun
Within this heart, but still there raged fierce way. With open Book. Kneeling alone--
This speaks of peace. But peace was far from here.
For self aloud laid claims upon the throne
Of torn heart, to rule life and career. Oh God, "I can't," was self's reply.
"I cannot do what Thou do'st ask of me.
I'm not the one." In anguish came the cry
From self. "Don't send me,” was the plea. 'Twas, "Go ye! Go ye! Go ye!" that was heard.
And lo?--She vowed she would much rather die.
But as she knelt, persistent was the Word.
And then, quite faint, but clear, she heard a cry. A cry of millions, who were lost in sin,
A cry that rent the stillness of the night.
A cry that chilled her first. And then,
Within, her heart condemned her for her fight. At once she saw her Savior’s bleeding hands.
And her own, dripping, red with blood.
But His were pierced for millions in those lands
To whom she vowed she would not take the Word. And as she knelt and saw this vivid sight--
On her own hands, the blood of many lost,
While she refused to show to them the Light.
“Oh Lord!” she cried, "I'll go at any cost." 
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