Bill McChesney, a missionary in the Congo, was martyred by the rebels in the Stanleyville area in 1964, when he was 28 years old. He had been beaten on a truck and his back was bleeding at the same time as suffering from malaria. Then he was beaten to death by an angry mob which was instigated by the revolutionary army.” Before he left to be a missionary he had written this poem entitled, MY CHOICE.
I want my breakfast served at “eight”, with ham and eggs upon the plate;
A well-broiled steak I’ll eat at “one”; and dine again when day is done.
I want an ultramodern home, and in each room a telephone;
Soft carpets, too, upon the floors, and pretty drapes to grace the doors.
A cosy place of lovely things, like easy chairs and innersprings,
And then I’ll get a small TV – of course, “I’m careful what I see.”
I want my wardrobe, too, to be of neatest, finest quality.
With latest style of suit and vest, why shouldn’t Christians have the best?
But then the Master I can hear, in no uncertain voice, so clear,
“I bid you come and follow Me, the lonely Man of Galilee.”
“Birds of the air have made their nest, and foxes in their holes find rest;
But I can offer you no bed; no place have I to lay My head.”
In shame I hung my head and cried. How could I spurn the Crucified?
Could I forget the way He went, the sleepless nights in prayer He spent?
For forty days without a bit, alone He fasted day and night;
Despised, rejected – on he went, and did not stop till veil He rent.
A man of sorrows and of grief, no earthly friend to bring relief –
“Smitten of God,” the prophet said – Mocked, beaten, bruised, His blood ran red.
If He be God and died for me, no sacrifice too great can be
For me, a mortal man, to make; I’ll do it all for Jesus’ sake.
Yes, I will tread the path He trod. No other way will please my God;
So, henceforth, this my choice shall be, my choice for all eternity.