STEAM

When I was a kid in Jacksonville,
It was a normal thing to hear
Big Jim blowing loud and shrill
At noon each day of the year;
And for a whistle made of metal alloys,
Big Jim made an awesome sound;
But it used all its steam in making noise,
Never for turning productive wheels around.



After many a year passed by,
I came to know another big Jim
Who is a steamed filled guy,
But he uses his steam to do his part
In winning to Christ lost souls,
And never with half-heart,
For that is primary of his goals;
He’s never content to just sit
And merely occupy a pew,
But is always in the thick of it,
Looking for things to do
To edify Christ’s church,
Like painting a wall,
Or teaching a class,
Or helping someone in a lurch,
Or doing a good deed,
Or making a hospital call,
Or letting no chance pass
To help someone in need,
Or having an uplifting word to share,
Or practicing stewardship,
Or giving invalids tender care,
Or going on a mission trip,
Or inspiring others on,
Or interceding in prayer,
And countless other things
That make our church more than a pile
Of wood and glass and stone,
And he does it all with a smile
And with no attached strings
And never counts the toll—
Sometimes even physical pain—
Or any other demand serving would make,
For he knows the body of Christ
Is made of flesh and blood and bone
And the sweat of fervent strain
And the giving of the heart in whole
And for no other reason than for Christ’s sake—
Anything less, to Jim, has never sufficed.
 
God will call Jim home one day
To that place where all saints are bound—
I hope it’s a long, long time away—
And when Jim arrives at Heaven’s gates,
God will welcome him and say
“My good and faithful instrument,
Your name in the book of life is found
Enter in, Eternity for you awaits;
Your steam has been well spent.”