This is an essay written by a twelve-year-old
girl.
When I was asked to write about a missionary I
know, a few people crossed my mind, like Mother
Teresa. Then I thought, “But I can’t write about
one of those great people, because I don’t really
know them.”
The person I think is a missionary, and a good
one, is my mother. This may sound peculiar, but
you don’t have to be ordained to be a missionary.
My mum’s mission is to be a housewife and mother
to me and our family. My mum has never been
selfish and put herself first before her family.
I have never been starved or without her endless
love. And just like the famous missionaries, my
mother has needed a lot of courage. She could
easily have gone off to bingo and left me, but
she didn’t. She made the supreme sacrifice of
thinking about me before herself. I am very lucky
to have a missionary mother.
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