His Work

He laid a sheet of paper down
upon a table top -
and from his chair he wrote and wrote
so faithfully, non-stop.

They laughed at him and bragged about
the works that they had done.
They filled vast reams of papers, yet -
he had but only one.

They boasted of their many works
their fancy hands exposed.
Great works in rich calligraphy
were pridefully disclosed.

Again they stood around and laughed,
but never did he gloat.
They laughed and scoffed and scoffed and laughed
at everything he wrote..

His life was written on one page -
but what? I didn't know.
The paper he had laying there
was white as driven snow.

Sorrow filled his teary face.
This world fatigued his soul.
The agony that he endured
had taken quite a toll.

I saw that many people judged,
made fun of and demeaned,
ridiculed and criticized
his lack of works they'd seen.

Yet faithfully, he wrote much more.
Were no works written there?
Still blank, his paper had appeared.
I thought it quite unfair.

Unfair that he was working hard
on words that wouldn't be.
Unfair that he was judged by those
on work they couldn't see.

Sometimes we think life's all in vain -
those things we do for God -
but He knows every one of us
and how, through life, we've trod.

It's not the works that we can see
that's valued on our page -
but rather what was done in love
that God will one day gauge.

So why was it completely blank?
Confused, I stopped to think -
but then I learned his work was penned
with tears instead of ink.

Yes, God knows our compassion.
So ponder this- it's true:
God floods His grace upon His world,
gets faithfulness from few.

This poem was a finalist in the October 2012 poetry contest