Clara Barton

August 23, 2026
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When You Can't Fix the Pain, Don't Face It Alone. Clara Barton knew what fear felt like from childhood, yet God transformed that fear into extraordinary compassion. When she encountered a dying soldier who believed he was calling for the woman he loved, Clara stayed beside him, comforted him, and fought to get him home to his family. Her story reminds women that we may not always be able to change someone's circumstances, but we can offer presence, compassion, courage, and love—and sometimes that is exactly what God asks of us. In seasons of caregiving, emotional exhaustion, grief, or helplessness, remember that God can use your willingness to stay when everything feels impossible. Listen and be encouraged to trust God with the people and burdens He places in your path. “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40 ESV)

Full Transcript

Clara Barton once confided to a friend that she remembered nothing but fear during her childhood and her favorite Scripture, “Perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). 

But she taught school for nineteen years and then took a job at the nation’s capital with the Patent Office where she learned valuable lessons about how the government operated, lessons that would be useful in the years ahead.  

At the outbreak of the Civil War, the Union army was poorly organized, and as the war expanded, the military was unable to cope with the overwhelming number of wounded soldiers. It was these uncared-for soldiers that Clara became determined to help. 

A nurse by instinct, having cared for her brother and grandmother at an early age, Clara knew that the only place for her was in the front lines. But high-ranking officers believed that women did not belong in military affairs, especially not in the front lines, which was where Clara wanted to go . . . and go she did. 

Clara always explained that she forgot herself entirely and simply did what had to be done. She said, “You must never think whether you like what you see, but only about the need and how to meet it. Then God gives the strength, and the thing that seemed impossible is done.” And no better example is found than in the moment she met Hugh Johnson. 

The Soldier’s Friend 

After supervising the loading of the supplies, Clara drove the wagon, powered by a four-mule team, to the first full-scale battle of the war at Bull Run in Virginia. She arrived to find the brigade surgeon surrounded by wounded and down to his last surgical dressings. Amid the roar of canons and the chaos of the battlefield, Clara and her team unloaded the badly needed supplies. She then immediately set out to care for the wounded.  

She looked down at a soldier the surgeon had been treating. “He cannot last a half hour longer,” the doctor said. “He has been shot through the stomach.”  

Clara knelt beside him and heard him cry out, “Mary! Mary you have come? I am wounded, Mary. I am shot and am dying – Oh come to me – I have called you so long and my strength is almost gone – Do not let me die here alone.” His bloody hands clasped his breast, and his bewildered eyes were turning in every direction as he cried out.  

Clara reached out and kissed his cold forehead, laying her cheek against his. The illusion was complete. “Oh Mary, I knew you would come if I called – and I called you so long. I could not die without you, Mary. I am not afraid to die now that you have come to me.” He placed his cold, bloody hands upon Clara’s face, all the while whispering, “Bless you, bless you, Mary.” Tears ran down her face as she wrapped him in blankets and lifted him on her lap, listening until he fell asleep.  

The morning found Clara sitting beside Hugh, fearing that her secret would be revealed when he woke. At first, he seemed puzzled, but then he smiled and said, “I knew before I opened my eyes that you could not be Mary. I know now that she could not get here, but you have made me so happy. Who are you?”  

Clara looked down at him. “I am simply a lady who, hearing that you were wounded, has come to care for you.” He wanted her to know his name. “In my pocket you will find my mother’s last letter. Please get it and write your name upon it, for I want both names by me when I die.”  

“Will they take away the wounded?” he asked.  

“Yes, the first train for Washington is nearly ready.”  

“I must go on the train,” he said quickly. “I am a poor mother’s only son, and I promised her that I would try every means in my power to be taken home to her dead or alive. If I am buried in Washington, she can get to me, but not here in the Virginia woods in hands of the enemy.” 

Clara went to the surgeon in charge and requested that Hugh be taken.  

“That is impossible, Madam. He is mortally wounded and will never reach the hospital. We must take those who still have a life.”  

“Can you, Doctor, guarantee the lives you have on this train?” Clara asked.  

“I wish I could, Madam; they are the worst cases, and nearly half of them will eventually die.” The surgeon paused. “Ok, send your men to bring him. We will take him.”  

They carefully laid Hugh on the crowded train, and a kindhearted attendant assured Clara that they would take him alive or dead to Armory Square Hospital and tell them he was Hugh Johnson of New York and make sure his grave was marked. 

A week later, Clara arrived at the hospital, and she looked at the chaplain’s record. There on the last page was written the name of Hugh Johnson. She turned to the chaplain and asked, “Did that man live until today?”  

“No, he died last night. However, his family reached him some two days ago, and they are just now taking his body to the train station.” 

Clara looked in the direction he pointed, and there by the coffin stood a gentleman, Hugh’s mother, and his sister Mary. “Had he been awake and had his reason?” she asked.  

“Oh, perfectly,” the chaplain said. “His mother and sister were with him two days.” 

Clara served on the battlefield and in the face of disasters all around the world as the founder and leader of the American Red Cross. At her death, someone wrote, “The whole world today, to its remotest corner, is paying reverence to Clara Barton. When men went forth with banners to kill, Clara Barton followed to undo their work under the cross . . . The Angel of the Battlefield.”  

And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40, ESV).  

Clara Barton once confided to a friend that she remembered nothing but fear during her childhood and her favorite Scripture, “Perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). 

But she taught school for nineteen years and then took a job at the nation’s capital with the Patent Office where she learned valuable lessons about how the government operated, lessons that would be useful in the years ahead.  

At the outbreak of the Civil War, the Union army was poorly organized, and as the war expanded, the military was unable to cope with the overwhelming number of wounded soldiers. It was these uncared-for soldiers that Clara became determined to help. 

A nurse by instinct, having cared for her brother and grandmother at an early age, Clara knew that the only place for her was in the front lines. But high-ranking officers believed that women did not belong in military affairs, especially not in the front lines, which was where Clara wanted to go . . . and go she did. 

Clara always explained that she forgot herself entirely and simply did what had to be done. She said, “You must never think whether you like what you see, but only about the need and how to meet it. Then God gives the strength, and the thing that seemed impossible is done.” And no better example is found than in the moment she met Hugh Johnson. 

The Soldier’s Friend 

After supervising the loading of the supplies, Clara drove the wagon, powered by a four-mule team, to the first full-scale battle of the war at Bull Run in Virginia. She arrived to find the brigade surgeon surrounded by wounded and down to his last surgical dressings. Amid the roar of canons and the chaos of the battlefield, Clara and her team unloaded the badly needed supplies. She then immediately set out to care for the wounded.  

She looked down at a soldier the surgeon had been treating. “He cannot last a half hour longer,” the doctor said. “He has been shot through the stomach.”  

Clara knelt beside him and heard him cry out, “Mary! Mary you have come? I am wounded, Mary. I am shot and am dying – Oh come to me – I have called you so long and my strength is almost gone – Do not let me die here alone.” His bloody hands clasped his breast, and his bewildered eyes were turning in every direction as he cried out.  

Clara reached out and kissed his cold forehead, laying her cheek against his. The illusion was complete. “Oh Mary, I knew you would come if I called – and I called you so long. I could not die without you, Mary. I am not afraid to die now that you have come to me.” He placed his cold, bloody hands upon Clara’s face, all the while whispering, “Bless you, bless you, Mary.” Tears ran down her face as she wrapped him in blankets and lifted him on her lap, listening until he fell asleep.  

The morning found Clara sitting beside Hugh, fearing that her secret would be revealed when he woke. At first, he seemed puzzled, but then he smiled and said, “I knew before I opened my eyes that you could not be Mary. I know now that she could not get here, but you have made me so happy. Who are you?”  

Clara looked down at him. “I am simply a lady who, hearing that you were wounded, has come to care for you.” He wanted her to know his name. “In my pocket you will find my mother’s last letter. Please get it and write your name upon it, for I want both names by me when I die.”  

“Will they take away the wounded?” he asked.  

“Yes, the first train for Washington is nearly ready.”  

“I must go on the train,” he said quickly. “I am a poor mother’s only son, and I promised her that I would try every means in my power to be taken home to her dead or alive. If I am buried in Washington, she can get to me, but not here in the Virginia woods in hands of the enemy.” 

Clara went to the surgeon in charge and requested that Hugh be taken.  

“That is impossible, Madam. He is mortally wounded and will never reach the hospital. We must take those who still have a life.”  

“Can you, Doctor, guarantee the lives you have on this train?” Clara asked.  

“I wish I could, Madam; they are the worst cases, and nearly half of them will eventually die.” The surgeon paused. “Ok, send your men to bring him. We will take him.”  

They carefully laid Hugh on the crowded train, and a kindhearted attendant assured Clara that they would take him alive or dead to Armory Square Hospital and tell them he was Hugh Johnson of New York and make sure his grave was marked. 

A week later, Clara arrived at the hospital, and she looked at the chaplain’s record. There on the last page was written the name of Hugh Johnson. She turned to the chaplain and asked, “Did that man live until today?”  

“No, he died last night. However, his family reached him some two days ago, and they are just now taking his body to the train station.” 

Clara looked in the direction he pointed, and there by the coffin stood a gentleman, Hugh’s mother, and his sister Mary. “Had he been awake and had his reason?” she asked.  

“Oh, perfectly,” the chaplain said. “His mother and sister were with him two days.” 

*** 

Clara served on the battlefield and in the face of disasters all around the world as the founder and leader of the American Red Cross. At her death, someone wrote, “The whole world today, to its remotest corner, is paying reverence to Clara Barton. When men went forth with banners to kill, Clara Barton followed to undo their work under the cross . . . The Angel of the Battlefield.”  

And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40, ESV).