Apostolic Friends Forum - To my son, Raul Jr.

To my son Raul Jr Alvear:
My long journey is almost over now but they say I will never die as long as you are alive for they say you are my photocopy…It has been an incredible breathtaking trip. Your dad will write you a letter this is from me.

How could I ever find words to describe the call of God? The Irrevocable Call, that is always present indifferent to what circumstances it is always there. The call you did not choose or ask for but it grips you a glove. You cannot shake it or pry it loose. It is in front of you, behind you. It is in your dreams and envisions your mind during your waking moments.
It is not tangible, so you cannot take it in your hands; it is not visible so you cannot see it. Yet inside, in the depths of the soul there is a burning, a yearning that most people cannot understand. How can I explain why I am different…why it is that I don’t like the things most normal people like?
Something from a distance pulls at me. A call…someone described it as the Hound of heaven,
My attention is focused on the regions beyond .styles do not even get a second look from me.
The surface talk bores me…Something pulls at my inmost being to fields afar.
I cannot explain it…an unwritten feeling something sacred…something holy…points down the road of time where men and women live their whole lives with nothing to comfort them unless someone with the call reaches them. Sometimes I almost feel a kindred spirit to the nomads, the gypsies, for earthly things hold no ties on my heart strings…
Somewhere in the chambers of my soul the Macedonian call never ceases to ring.
I wonder why I am so different. I did not choose to be different He that calls chose for me to different. He wastes no special orders on those that will not obey.
Then I notice the whispers of my friends…she’s a missionary they say in hushed tones. A preacher to some a speaker to others. It really doesn’t matter son what they call me. They will never understand my heavenly visitation…I did not choose for the Lord to visit me at eight years old and tell me He had called me to be a missionary but through life’s hardest trials I have never forget the feeling of His hand when He took mine and said, I will go with you.”
No, Raul Jr they will never understand…a call that’s bigger than life itself…a call that demands time, love and every fiber of your being.
Pursue it, follow after it. You will never be happy any other way.
My son there will be obstacles along the way, barricades, those that would stone you, fellow missionaries that you help try to crucify you, long hot deserts with blinding blowing sands to fill your eyes…keep walking… The call… It drives you on through the storm on through life’s tempests where the sun shines once again.

I dream of churches, walking dusty trails, sitting down with natives in humble homes, opening my map to heaven explaining to them the way.
Leave it to the younger I hear voices say, “You have given enough Sister Alvear.” “Rest…” but I cannot rest as long as I have life and as long as one soul sits in heathen darkness. I sit down and wipe sweat from my brow. Maybe they are right and I should rest but the voice of Jehovah urges me on. So I get up again and look to the fields. The suffering, the hurting the lost…they are always there…shall I drink my cool water alone while they die of thirst?
My steps are slow now, my health is gone yet the call still rings loud and clear. Oh for another life to give again to God’s fields. And then I look at you and realize I will live on…
Have I ever been scorned?
I hear “them” laughing in a distance…a woman what can she do? I turn my head and wipe a tear…I walk slowly away while they laugh. Does it hurt? Yes, son mockery hurts. But there was One that went before…He was a man, did that change the scenario? No, they mocked for a different reason but he answered them not. He kept his eyes on the call, the mission. You too must keep your eyes on the mission, never stoop to explain the call, be as the Master…keep your eyes on the purpose.
Yes, son there will be blood and hurt that will leave scars…He too took scars back to heaven but he fulfilled his mission.
Now I look at you Raul Jr. You are such a fine man. I don’t have money or pearls to leave you but I will you this unseen call.
To you, I cast my mantle so don’t be afraid. In loneliness and solitude of the call there will be a presence that will warm your heart. He has promised to never leave nor forsake His own.
You like me, will be different, just march to the drum beat that you hear my son.
It will lead you on to what others will call mission impossible but when life is over and without the help of earths organizations and political parties you can stand upon the sunset of time like I now stand and see an impossible dream now come true.
While others spend on fleshly desires, collections and hobbies, arts and suchlike, I will to you my eyes to see that earth’s fine things that are vanity after all.
The wise preacher of old started in his book, “all is vanity” and as you read it through he ended it reminding us once again that all earthly things are vanity.
Fine decoration was never my taste maybe a map on the wall to remind me of billions souls and their fate. “Take a break now, missionary” they constantly tell me. But sleepless nights pass as I sit at my desk typing letters in pro of those that have never heard…

Earth’s life is only a tent after all. So do not grow weary in well doing for it is a fact you will work your whole life through and your people will never quite understand…why the push why the nights without sleep, why the letters, Son it is that invisible call.

Nothing pulls as much as the print of the nails and the mark of the spear. It takes life and blood to be to the people the real thing they need. The people know the difference in a title missionary and in the one that has the real missionary call.

The burden that I have carried is bigger than I can describe but now at journey’s end I can say, “I have never been sorry that God called me to be a missionary.”

Your Missionary Mom:

Janice Alvear