Someone got upset
Last week with what he said
He'd read the Scriptures,
Made a point, just as he was led

Monday came and Monday went
Without a word of cheer
Encouragement was what he craved
But none would come he feared

Tuesday saw some sunshine
Cheerful, warm and bright
Then there came a waking call
Late into the night.

A cherished soul he knew so well
Held lightly to this life
She'd made a call but couldn't wait
And left before he arrived.

By midweek's day the clouds rolled in
Still, things hadn't gotten better
The roof was dripping silent tears
And the pews were getting wetter.

When Thursday came
He'd had enough
"Lord, this is too hard,
Why is this road so rough?"

Now, if he had thought
The heavens would open
Only silence would answer
That question of hoping.

So, he fell into bed
And groaned in his soul
The church and the people
Their problems - their toll.

But the very next morning
He was met with surprise
A searching soul was set free
And had tears in their eyes.

A pastor is made
Of the same earthen clay
As you and as I -
So would it hurt you to say.

"I appreciate you,
You're a lighthouse to me.
God has used you in my life
And have helped me to be

The right kind of vessel
The Master can use
To be a blessing to others
How could I refuse."

The moral it seems
To this amateur prose
Is, bless your dear pastor
It means more than you know.