Pastoral Resources

It is a common temptation of Satan to make us give up the reading of the Word and prayer when our enjoyment is gone; as if it were of no use to read the Scriptures when we do not enjoy them, and as if it were no use to pray when we have no spirit of prayer. The truth is that in order to enjoy the Word, we ought to continue to read it, and the way to obtain a spirit of prayer is to continue praying. The less we read the Word of God, the less we desire to read it, and the less we pray, the less we desire to pray.

The lesson of Munich was: When it is necessary to confront an expansionist dictator, sooner is better than later. As Douglas MacArthur said, in war all tragedy can be summarized in two words, “too late.” Too late perceiving, too late preparing for danger.

Socrates of Constantinople, an early church historian, tells of an ignorant man who came to him asking him to teach him a Psalm or some part of Scripture. Socrates began to read to him the 39th Psalm, "I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue." As soon as he had read the first verse, Pambo, for that was his name, shut the book and took his leave saying that he would go learn that point first. His instructor waited and waited for him, but he did not come back. Finally, one day Socrates met Pambo accidentally and asked where he had been. Pambo said he was still learning that first lesson about the tongue. Forty-nine years later when someone else asked him why he did not learn anything else from the Scriptures, his reply was the same. Is it then any wonder that James takes almost the whole third chapter to discuss this all-important part of the body?

Abraham Lincoln’s secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, was angered by an army officer who accused him of favoritism. Stanton complained to Lincoln, who suggested that Stanton write the officer a sharp letter. Stanton did, and showed the strongly worded missive to the president. “What are you going to do with it?” Lincoln inquired. Surprised, Stanton replied, “Send it.”

Lincoln shook his head. “You don’t want to send that letter,” he said. “Put it in the stove. That’s what I do when I have written a letter while I am angry. It’s a good letter and you had a good time writing it and feel better. Now burn it, and write another.”

John Henry Jowett, prominent preacher of two or three generations ago, served as pastor of distinguished churches both in England and America. He used to tell of a stormy evening when he was entertained in the home of an English countryman. Sometime after nightfall, the hour came for him to leave, to catch his train back to the city. As he arose to go, his farmer host walked with him to the front gate. There the farmer gave him a lighted lantern, pointed to a light in the distance, and said, "Yonder light is Saddleworth Station; make for that. The lantern will keep you from falling into the ditch; but keep your eye on the glimmer in the distance."

In the daily walk of our life, sometimes in darkness or storm, we have to give a lot of attention to staying out of the ditch. We need to use the light, God's Word, to keep from falling in.

But there is something more. If we look carefully, in the distance we can see a glimmer. This is important; for the glimmer is the high goal, the object of the long quest, the Light that directs the course of our journey to heaven.

Friend, may you go from here today with a light for your next footsteps. But this alone is not enough: Never take your eyes off the glimmer that is in the distance.

The Spirit breathes upon the word,

And brings the truth to sight;

Precepts and promises afford

A sanctifying light.

A glory gilds the sacred page,

Majestic like the sun;

It gives a light to every age.

It gives, but borrows none.

The hand that gave it still supplies

The gracious light and heat;

His truths upon the nations rise,

They rise, but never set.

Let everlasting thanks be thine,

For such a bright display,

As makes a world of darkness shine

With beams of heavenly day.

My soul rejoices to pursue

The steps of Him I love,

Till glory break upon my view

In brighter worlds above.

Bob Woods, in Pulpit Digest, tells the story of a couple who took their son, 11, and daughter, 7, to Carlsbad Caverns. As always, when the tour reached the deepest point in the cavern, the guide turned off all the lights to dramatize how completely dark and silent it is below the earth’s surface. The little girl, suddenly enveloped in utter darkness, was frightened and began to cry. Immediately was heard the voice of her brother: “Don’t cry. Somebody here knows how to turn on the lights.”

In a real sense, that is the message of the gospel: light is available, even when darkness seems overwhelming.

As George Matheson said, "Christ has illuminated the world, not by what He did, but by what He was; His life is the Light of Men. We speak of a man's life-work; the work of Jesus was His life itself.... It is good to be told that the pure in heart shall see God, but the vision of heaven in a pure man's face outweighs it all. They tell us that the Easter morning has revealed His glory; rather would I say that His glory has revealed the Easter morning. It is not resurrection that has made Christ; it is Christ that has made resurrection. To those who have seen His beauty, even Olivet can add no certainty; the light of immortality is as bright on His Cross as on His Crown. 'I am the resurrection' are His own words about Himself-not 'I teach,' not 'I cause,' not 'I predict,' but 'I am.' "

An old sculptor had among other pieces of work in his shop the model of a beautiful cathedral. It was covered with the dust of years, and nobody admired it, although it was an exact model of a fine cathedral, inside and out. One day the attendant placed a light inside the model, and its gleam shone through the beautiful stained-glass windows. Then all stopped to admire its beauty. The change that was brought by the light within was marvelous.

A lighthouse along a bleak coast was tended by a keeper who was given enough oil for one month and told to keep the light burning every night. One day a woman asked for oil so that her children could stay warm. Then a farmer came. His son needed oil for a lamp so he could read. Still another needed some for an engine.

The keeper saw each as a worthy request and measured out just enough oil to satisfy all. Near the end of the month, the tank in the lighthouse ran dry. That night the beacon was dark and three ships crashed on the rocks. More than 100 lives were lost.

When a government official investigated, the man explained what he had done and why. “You were given one task alone,” insisted the official. “It was to keep the light burning. Everything else was secondary. There is no defense.”

A young boy once approached his father to ask, “Dad, why does the wind blow?”, to which the father responded, “I don’t know, son.”

“Dad, where do the clouds come from?”

“I’m not sure, son.”

“Dad, what makes a rainbow?”

“No idea, son.”

“Dad, do you mind me asking you all these questions.?”

“Not at all, son. How else are you going to learn?”

Prayer is the link that connects us with God. It is the bridge that spans every gulf and bears us over every abyss of danger or of need. How significant is this picture of the New Testament church: Peter in prison, the Jews triumphant, Herod supreme, the arena of martyrdom awaiting the dawning of the morning. “But prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God for him.” And what is the sequel? The prison open, the apostle free, the Jews baffled, the wicked king divinely smitten, and the Word of God rolling on in greater victory. Do we know the power of our supernatural weapon? Do we dare to use it with the authority of a faith that commands as well as asks? God grant us holy audacity and divine confidence. He is not wanting great men, but He is wanting men that will dare to prove the greatness of their God. - A. B. Simpson

Adrian Rogers tells about the man who bragged that he had cut off the tail of a man-eating lion with his pocket knife. Asked why he hadn’t cut off the lion’s head, the man replied: “Someone had already done that.”

The Greeks had a race in their Olympic games that was unique. The winner was not the runner who finished first. It was the runner who finished with his torch still lit. I want to run all the way with the flame of my torch still lit for Him.

John Killinger retells this story from Atlantic Monthly about the days of the great western cattle rancher:

“A little burro sometimes would be harnessed to a wild steed. Bucking and raging, convulsing like drunken sailors, the two would be turned loose like Laurel and Hardy to proceed out onto the desert range. They could be seen disappearing over the horizon, the great steed dragging that little burro along and throwing him about like a bag of cream puffs. They might be gone for days, but eventually they would come back. The little burro would be seen first, trotting back across the horizon, leading the submissive steed in tow. Somewhere out there on the rim of the world, that steed would become exhausted from trying to get rid of the burro, and in that moment, the burro would take mastery and become the leader. And that is the way it is with the kingdom and its heroes, isn’t it? The battle is to the determined, not to the outraged; to the committed, not to those who are merely dramatic.

I like to think of Christ as a burden bearer. A minister was one day moving his library up stairs. As the minister was going up stairs with his load of books his little boy came in and was very anxious to help his father. So his father just told him to go and get an armful and take them up stairs. When the father came back he met the little fellow about half way up the stairs tugging away with the biggest in the library. He couldn't manage to carry it up. The book was too big. So he sat down and cried. His father found him, and just took him in his arms, book and all, and carried him up stairs. So Christ will carry you and all your burdens.

A delightful children’s story tells of a little blue engine who looked at his impossible task of pulling a train up a steep hill and said, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” Filled with determination, the little blue engine huffed and puffed and pulled up the hill. But in an amusing twist to the original story, another author wrote:

He was almost there, when —

CRASH! SMASH! BASH!

He slid down and mashed into engine hash.

On the rocks below…

which goes to show

If the track is tough and the hill is rough

THINKING you can ain’t enough.

A story is told about Fiorello LaGuardia, who, when he was mayor of New York City during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of WWII, was called by adoring New Yorkers ‘the Little Flower’ because he was only five foot four and always wore a carnation in his lapel. He was a colorful character who used to ride the New York City fire trucks, raid speakeasies with the police department, take entire orphanages to baseball games, and whenever the New York newspapers were on strike, he would go on the radio and read the Sunday funnies to the kids.

One bitterly cold night in January of 1935, the mayor turned up at a night court that served the poorest ward of the city. LaGuardia dismissed the judge for the evening and took over the bench himself. Within a few minutes, a tattered old woman was brought before him, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving. But the shopkeeper, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges. “It’s a real bad neighborhood, your Honor,” the man told the mayor. “She’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.”

LaGuardia sighed. He turned to the woman and said “I’ve got to punish you. The law makes no exceptions—ten dollars or ten days in jail.” But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was already reaching into his pocket. He extracted a bill and tossed it into his famous sombrero saying: “Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. ‘Mr. Baliff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.’”

So the following day the New York City newspapers reported that $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered old lady who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren, fifty cents of that amount being contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner, while some seventy petty criminals, people with traffic violations, and New York City policemen, each of whom had just paid fifty cents for the privilege of doing so, gave the mayor a standing ovation.

Ted Engstrom, Integrity

Once there was a little old man. His eyes blinked and his hands trembled; when he ate he clattered the silverware distressingly, missed his mouth with the spoon as often as not, and dribbled a bit of his food on the tablecloth. Now he lived with his married son, having nowhere else to live, and his son’s wife didn’t like the arrangement.

“I can’t have this,” she said. “It interferes with my right to happiness.” So she and her husband took the old man gently but firmly by the arm and led him to the corner of the kitchen. There they set him on a stool and gave him his food in an earthenware bowl. From then on he always ate in the corner, blinking at the table with wistful eyes.

One day his hands trembled rather more than usual, and the earthenware bowl fell and broke. “If you are a pig,” said the daughter-in-law, “you must eat out of a trough.” So they made him a little wooden trough and he got his meals in that.

These people had a four-year-old son of whom they were very fond. One evening the young man noticed his boy playing intently with some bits of wood and asked what he was doing. “I’m making a trough,” he said, smiling up for approval, “to feed you and Mamma out of when I get big.”

The man and his wife looked at each other for a while and didn’t say anything. Then they cried a little. They then went to the corner and took the old man by the arm and led him back to the table. They sat him in a comfortable chair and gave him his food on a plate, and from then on nobody ever scolded when he clattered or spilled or broke things.

One of Grimm’s fairy tales, this anecdote has the crudity of the old, simple days.

I remember while in Boston I attended one of the daily prayer meetings. The meetings we had been holding had been almost always addressed by young men. Well, in that meeting a little tow-headed Norwegian boy stood up. He could hardly speak a word of English plain, but he got up and came to the front. He trembled all over and the tears were all trickling down his cheeks, but he spoke out as well as he could and said: "If I tell the world about Jesus, then will He tell the Father about me." He then took his seat; that was all he said, but I tell you that in those few words he said more than all of them, old and young together. Those few words went straight down into the heart of everyone present. "If I tell the world"--yes, that's what it means to confess Christ.

A Mohammedan and a Christian were discussing their religions and had agreed that both Mohammed and Christ were prophets. Where, then, lay the difference? The Christian illustrated it this way: "I came to a crossroads and I saw a dead man and a living man. Which one did I ask for directions?" The response came quickly, "The living one, of course." "Why, then," asked his friend, "do you send me to Mohammed who is dead, instead of Christ who is alive?" This is the basic difference between Christ and every other religious leader. All the others came into the world, lived, and died-but none of them lived again. The resurrection of Christ was the one event that persuaded His disciples once for all that He was the Christ, God's Son.

There was once a merchant who had been a very worldly, godless man. He was finally gloriously converted. On being asked what had been especially the means of his conversion, he replied, "The example of one of my clerks." He went on to say, "This young man was one whose religion was in his life rather than in his tongue. He did not bless God and speak evil of his fellowmen. When I uttered an oath, he never reproved me; but I could see it deeply pained him. When I fell into a fit of anger and behaved in a violent manner, though he spoke no word to that effect, I could see how painful the scene was to him. My respect for him led me to restrain myself in his presence and gradually to break off both these habits. In fact, this man, though he never spoke a word to me on the subject of religion, exercised an influence for good over me wielded by no other human being. To him, under God, I am indebted more than to any other for the hope of eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ in which I now rejoice."

A. J. Gordon noted that if you tear down a sparrow’s nest the little bird will build again in the same place. However, if you pull it down several times, she will seek a new location—a shelter higher up—where it will be less vulnerable. Gordon then observed that Christians are not always so wise. They form dwelling places of happiness and hope in this temporal world, only to see them pulled down time after time. Yet after each brief interval of sighs and tears, they begin building all over again in the same way. They never realize that through their defeats the Lord is directing them to put their security in Him.

The late C. S. Lewis once remembered, “When I was a child, I often had a toothache, and I knew that if I went to my mother, she would give me something which would deaden the pain for that night and let me get to sleep. But I did not go to my mother—at least not till the pain became very bad. And the reason I did not go was this: I did not doubt she would give me the aspirin; but I knew she would also do something else. I knew she would take me to the dentist the next morning. I could not get what I wanted out of her without getting something more, which I did not want. I wanted immediate relief from my pain; but I could not get it without having my teeth set permanently right. And I knew those dentists; I knew they would start fiddling about with all sorts of other teeth which had not yet begun to ache. Our Lord is like the dentists. Dozens of people go to him to be cured of some particular sin. Well, he will cure it all right, but he will not stop there. That may be all you asked; but if you once call him in, he will give you the full treatment.”

Years ago an old lady had no money to buy food. She prayed, "Dear Lord, please send me a side of bacon and a sack of corn meal." Over and over again she prayed the same prayer aloud. One of the town's unscrupulous citizens decided to play a trick on her. He dropped a side of bacon and a sack of corn meal down her chimney. It landed in front of her as she knelt in prayer.

Jumping to her feet, she exclaimed, "Oh Lord! You have answered my prayer!" Then she went all over town telling everyone the good news.

This was too much for the scoundrel who dropped the food down her chimney. He ridiculed her publicly and told her that God did not answer her prayer; he did. The old lady replied, "Well, the devil may have brought it, but it was the Lord who sent it!"

God answers prayers in many ways.

At the conclusion of the Civil War, when hatred and vindictiveness were rampant in the land, President Lincoln sought to stem the tide of judgment and reprisal. When Senator Sumner of Massachesetts pressed him to have Jefferson Davis summarily hanged, Lincoln twice repeated our Lord's admonition, "Judge not, that ye be not judged" (Mat_7:1). Though he had vanquished Davis as an enemy, Lincoln refused to condemn him as a man. He chose to leave that final judgment to his Creator.

One day as G. Campbell Morgan prayed, the Lord seemed to say to him, "Which do you want to be-a servant of mine or a great preacher?" Morgan replied, "May I not be both, Lord?" A spiritual struggle ensued as he thought, God may want me to be an unknown minister in an obscure place. Then Morgan submissively prayed, "O Lord, my greatest wish is to be a servant of Thine!" The Lord responded by making him one of the greatest preachers of his time.

John’s reference to the Lord’s Day (v. 10), generally regarded as referring to Sunday, suggests that to first-century Christians the first day of the week was particularly significant. That raises the question of whether Sundays are special today.

We know that the early church gave special honor to Sunday, the first day of the week, as the day on which Jesus was raised from the dead. Every week on that day they celebrated His resurrection and met for worship and instruction (1 Cor. 16:2). This observance of a special day was both a parallel and a contrast to the Jewish Sabbath, or day of rest, at the end of the week. The Sabbath celebrated God’s rest from creation (see “The Sabbath,” Heb. 4:10-13).

Some Jewish Christians continued to observe the Sabbath, as well as the Jewish festival days. But many Gentiles in the church did not. Apparently this created tension, especially when the observance of Jewish practices began to be linked by some to salvation. A council of church leaders at Jerusalem did not include a demand for Sabbath observance in its decision regarding Gentile converts (Acts 15:20, 28-29).

Likewise, in writing to the Romans, Paul urged everyone to decide for themselves whether one day should be esteemed above another; but by all means, no one should judge another for his convictions (see “Matters of Conscience,” Rom. 14:1-23; compare Gal. 4:10; Col. 2:16-17).

It’s interesting that the phrase “the Lord’s Day” occurs only this one time in Rev. 1:10. In Asia Minor, where the churches to which John was writing were located, people celebrated the first day of each month as the Emperor’s Day. Some believe that a day of the week was also called by this name. Thus, by calling the first day of the week the Lord’s Day, John may have been making a direct challenge to emperor worship, as he does elsewhere in the book.

Two men were talking together. The first challenged the other, “If you are so religious, let’s hear you quote the Lord’s Prayer. I bet you $10 you can’t.”

The second responded, “Now I lay my down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

The first pulled out his wallet and fished out a ten dollar bill, muttering, “I didn’t think you could do it!”

Martyn Lloyd-Jones told a story about a farmer who went into the house one day to tell his wife and family some good news. “The cow just gave birth to twin calves, one red and one white,” he said.

He continued, “We must dedicate one of these calves to the Lord. We will bring them up together, and when the time comes, we will sell one and keep the proceeds and we will sell the other and give the proceeds to the Lord’s work.” His wife asked him which he was going to dedicate to the Lord. “There’s no need to bother about that now,” he replied, “we’ll treat them both in the same way, and when the time comes, we’ll do as I say.”

A few days later, he entered the kitchen looking unhappy. “What happened?” his wife asked. “I have bad news,” he replied. “The Lord’s calf is dead.” “Wait,” said his wife, “you didn’t decide which calf was to be the Lord’s.” “Yes,” he said, “I decided it was the white one, and the white one died. The Lord’s calf is dead.”

A visible manifestation of the word. The bread and wine in the Lord’s Supper are considered sacraments in that they are visible manifestations of the covenant promise of our Lord: “In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.’” (Luke 22:20).

God, in the O.T. used visible signs along with His spoken word. These visible signs, then, were considered to have significance. “Among the O.T. sacraments the rites of circumcision and the Passover were stressed as being the O.T. counterparts of baptism (Col. 2:22-12) and the Lord’s Supper (1 Cor. 5:7).”

At the conclusion of the Civil War, when hatred and vindictiveness were rampant in the land, President Lincoln sought to stem the tide of judgment and reprisal. When Senator Sumner of Massachesetts pressed him to have Jefferson Davis summarily hanged, Lincoln twice repeated our Lord's admonition, "Judge not, that ye be not judged" (Mat 7:1). Though he had vanquished Davis as an enemy, Lincoln refused to condemn him as a man. He chose to leave that final judgment to his Creator.

One day as G. Campbell Morgan prayed, the Lord seemed to say to him, "Which do you want to be-a servant of mine or a great preacher?" Morgan replied, "May I not be both, Lord?" A spiritual struggle ensued as he thought, God may want me to be an unknown minister in an obscure place. Then Morgan submissively prayed, "O Lord, my greatest wish is to be a servant of Thine!" The Lord responded by making him one of the greatest preachers of his time.

In the Old Testament, under God's command, trumpets were used to call the princes and the congregation together, to announce the journeying of the camps, and as an alarm or notification device. Trumpets were also blown in the days of Israel's "gladness," "set feasts," and over their sacrifices in the beginning of their months (Num 10:1-6, Num 10:10). I believe that it is in this sense of gladness for the Church of Jesus Christ that this last trumpet will be blown. Can there be any more joyous event than this, when the dead in Christ shall be raised incorruptible, and living believers shall be similarly changed? The Lord's trumpet will call all believers, dead and living, to join Him in possessing a glorious resurrection body.

A little boy about eight or nine, who liked to have his own way, was told by his father, "Philip, you ought not to want your own way." He dropped his head as if he had been given a big problem to solve. After thinking a while he said, "Father, if I choose the will of the Lord and go His way because I want to, don't I still have my own way?"

Tom carried his new boat to the edge of the river. He carefully placed it in the water and slowly let out the string. How smoothly the boat sailed! Tom sat in the warm sunshine, admiring the little boat that he had built. Suddenly a strong current caught the boat. Tom tried to pull it back to shore, but the string broke. The little boat raced downstream.

Tom ran along the sandy shore as fast as he could. But his little boat soon slipped out of sight. All afternoon he searched for the boat. Finally, when it was too dark to look any longer, Tom sadly went home.

A few days later, on the way home from school, Tom spotted a boat just like his in a store window. When he got closer, he could see—sure enough—it was his!

Tom hurried to the store manager: “Sir, that’s my boat in your window! I made it!”

“Sorry, son, but someone else brought it in this morning. If you want it, you’ll have to buy it for one dollar.”

Tom ran home and counted all his money. Exactly one dollar! When he reached the store, he rushed to the counter. “Here’s the money for my boat.” As he left the store, Tom hugged his boat and said, “Now you’re twice mine. First, I made you and now I bought you.”

Once a little boy was lost in the woods. The alarm was sounded; a church meeting broke up; the whole congregation and neighborhood responded. Fishermen abandoned their nets and merchants closed their shops. Plows were left in the field and washing in the tub. Everyone turned out to hunt for the little fellow. There was a feverish haste. The night was dark and harm might befall the little fellow. After hours of search, he was found, and oh, the joy that was felt because of the rescue!

Today that boy is grown. He is lost again! But none seem to care. Mom and Dad are busy with other things. The church does not seem to care. No alarm is sent out. Yet, a far worse fate awaits him now. You see, he is now lost in sin! Do we really care? Enough to do something?

‘Twas a sheep, not a lamb,

that strayed away in the parable Jesus told.

A grown-up sheep that had gone astray

from the ninety and nine in the fold.

Out on the hillside, out in the cold,

‘twas a sheep the Good Shepherd sought;

And back to the flock, safe into the fold,

‘twas a sheep the Good Shepherd brought.

And why for the sheep should we earnestly long

and as earnestly hope and pray?

Because there is danger, if they go wrong,

they will lead the lambs astray.

For the lambs will follow the sheep, you know,

wherever the sheep may stray;

When the sheep go wrong, it will not be long

till the lambs are as wrong as they.

And so with the sheep we earnestly plead,

for the sake of the lambs today;

If the sheep are lost, what terrible cost

some of the lambs will have to pay!

When Hudson Taylor was director of the China Inland Mission, he often interviewed candidates for the mission field. On one occasion, he met with a group of applicants to determine their motivations for service. “And why do you wish to go as a foreign missionary?” he asked one. “I want to go because Christ has commanded us to go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature,” was the reply. Another said, “I want to go because millions are perishing without Christ.” Others gave different answers. Then Hudson Taylor said, “All of these motives, however good, will fail you in times of testings, trials, tribulations, and possible death. There is but one motive that will sustain you in trial and testing; namely, the love of Christ.”

A missionary in Africa was once asked if he really liked what he was doing. His response was shocking. “Do I like this work?” he said. “No. My wife and I do not like dirt. We have reasonably refined sensibilities. We do not like crawling into vile huts through goat refuse...But is a man to do nothing for Christ he does not like? God pity him, if not. Liking or disliking has nothing to do with it. We have orders to ‘Go,” and we go. Love constrains us.”

A certain medieval monk announced he would be preaching next Sunday evening on “The Love of God.” As the shadows fell and the light ceased to come in through the cathedral windows, the congregation gathered. In the darkness of the altar, the monk lighted a candle and carried it to the crucifix. First of all, he illumined the crown of thorns, next, the two wounded hands, then the marks of the spear wound. In the hush that fell, he blew out the candle and left the chancel. There was nothing else to say.

I remember my little girl had a habit of getting up in the morning very cross. I don't know whether your children are like that. She used to get up in the morning speaking cross, and made the family very uncomfortable. So I took her aside one morning and said to her, "Emma, if you go on that way I shall have to correct you I don't want to do it, but I will have to." She looked at me for a few moments--I had never spoken to her that way before--and she went away. She behaved herself for a few weeks all right, but one morning she was as cross as ever, and when she came to me to be kissed before going to school, I wouldn't do it. Off she went to her mother, and said: "Mamma, Papa refused to kiss me: I cannot go to school because he won't kiss me." Her mother came in, but she didn't say much. She knew the child had been doing wrong. The little one went off and as she was going down stairs I heard her weeping, and it seemed to me as if that child was dearer to me than ever she had been before. I went to the window and saw her going down the street crying, and as I looked on her I couldn't repress my tears. That seemed to be the longest day I ever spent in Chicago. Before the closing of the school I was at home, and when she came in her first words were: "Papa, won't you forgive me?" and I kissed her and she went away singing. It was because I loved her that I punished her. My friends, don't let Satan make you believe when you have any trouble, that God does not love you.

When you fear that the worst will happen, your own thoughts may help to bring it about. “Fear,” a writer once said, “Is the wrong use of imagination. It is anticipating the worst, not the best that can happen.”

A salesman, driving on a lonely country road one dark and rainy night had a flat. He opened the trunk—no lug wrench. The light from a farmhouse could be seen dimly up the road. He set out on foot through the driving rain. Surely the farmer would have a lug wrench he could borrow, he thought. Of course, it was late at night—the farmer would be asleep in his warm, dry bed. Maybe he wouldn’t answer the door. And even if he did, he’d be angry at being awakened in the middle of the night. The salesman, picking his way blindly in the dark, stumbled on. By now his shoes and clothing were soaked. Even if the farmer did answer his knock, he would probably shout something like, “What’s the big idea waking me up at this hour!”

This thought make the salesman angry. What right did that farmer have to refuse him the loan of a lug wrench? After all, here he was stranded in the middle of nowhere, soaked to the skin. The farmer was a selfish clod—no doubt about that! The salesman finally reached the house, and banged loudly on the door. A light went on inside, and a window opened above. “Who is it?” a voice called out. “You know darn will who it is,” yelled the salesman, his face white with anger. “It’s me! You can keep your blasted lug wrench. I wouldn’t borrow it now if you had the last one on earth!”

The story is told of the big lumberjack who bought a brand new chainsaw and was told it could cut down at least 100 trees a day. But on the first day he only managed to cut down 25 trees. The next day he tried harder and finally cut down 33 trees. The third day he started early, worked late, and even cut his lunch break short, but he still managed to cut down only 48 trees.

He went back to the store and confronted the manager with his complaint. He told him of his efforts and of the results. The manager couldn’t quite understand what had gone wrong, so he asked to take a look. He grabbed the starter rope and pulled hard, and the motor started with a roar.

The lumberjack jumped back in alarm and yelled, “Hey, what’s that big noise?”

“It is not the importance of the thing, but the majesty of the Lawgiver, that is to be the standard of obedience...Some, indeed, might reckon such minute and arbitrary rules as these as trifling. But the principle involved in obedience or disobedience was none other than the same principle which was tried in Eden at the foot of the forbidden tree. It is really this: Is the Lord to be obeyed in all things whatsoever He commands? Is He a holy Lawgiver? Are His creatures bound to give implicit assent to His will?”

A danger exists in assuming that the majority is right. The majority, when against the Word of God, results in tragedy. Remember the people of Israel responding to the twelve spies. By far the vast majority sided with the ten spies. Only two from the entire nation sided with God. And only those two entered the land and received the blessings.

Elisabeth Elliot tells of Gladys Aylward, a London parlour maid, who went to China as a missionary. She spent seven years there, single, happy. Then an English couple came to work nearby. She saw what she’d been missing out on. So she prayed that God would choose a man in England, call him, send him out to China and have him propose.

“I believe God answers prayer. He called him, but he never came.”

Dear Ann Landers: Americans have placed too much importance on material wealth and “getting somewhere,” and it is taking its toll on relationships. Something has to give. I wrote a little fairy tale about this subject, based on my own life. Maybe your readers will enjoy it.

Once upon a time, there was a bright young man who decided to become rich and successful. So he studied very hard in college, got an M.B.A., and went to work in a prestigious firm.

Since most successful businessmen in the land had beautiful wives, he went out and got himself one. He bought his “Christina” a lovely home in the suburbs. In return for beautiful clothes and elegant jewels, she was a dutiful wife who devoted herself to their children. She never saw much of her rich, successful husband who worked long hours and stayed out late at night, sharing wine and expensive meals with potential clients in order to cultivate good connections. There were rumors that he was seen dining with attractive women in the business world.

Meanwhile, Christina was growing more lonely and disconnected. One day, after looking at the emptiness of her life, she decided to go back to college and have a career. After watching her husband, she knew she didn’t want to be rich and successful. She was hungry for something much deeper and more meaningful.

Something in Christina awakened as she gained new knowledge. And lo and behold, one day in class, her eyes locked with those of a handsome man who was also looking for something that would give more meaning to his life. He was tired of the demands of the business world, and like our heroine, he wanted something deeper.

After a year of contemplation, Christina divorced her husband (who to this day remains baffled but busy) and married the nice man in her class. He became a good stepfather to her children, who were delighted to have a man to spend time with, and he always came home from work in time for a family dinner. They weren’t rich, but they lived happily every after. The End. —A Faithful Reader in Michigan

Dear Michigan: That’s no fairy tale, honey, it’s art imitating life.

Christopher Winans, in his book, Malcolm Forbes: The Man Who Had Everything, tells of a motorcycle tour that Forbes took through Egypt in 1984 with his Capitalist Tool motorcycle team.

After viewing the staggering burial tomb of King Tut, Forbes seemed to be in a reflective mood. As they were returning to the hotel in a shuttle bus, Forbes turned to one of his associates and asked with all sincerity: “Do you think I’ll be remembered after I die?”

Forbes is remembered. He is remembered as the man who coined the phrase, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” That was the wisdom of Malcolm Forbes. In fact, that was his ambition. That’s why he collected scores of motorcycles. That’s why he would pay over a million dollars for a Faberge egg. That’s why he owned castles, hot air balloons and countless other toys that he can no longer access.

The Lord Jesus Christ gave us words of superior wisdom when he said, “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26). It is a fatally deficient wisdom that declares “He who dies with the most toys wins.”

Dr. P. was a musician of distinction, well-known for many years as a singer and a music teacher. However, Dr. P. began acting strangely. Sometimes a student would present himself, and Dr. P. would not recognize his face. But then Dr. P. also began to see faces when there were no faces to see. When in the park he might pat the heads of fire hydrants and parking meters, mistaking them for the heads of children.

Finally, Dr. P. went to see Dr. Oliver Sacks for help. After the examination Dr. P. looked around for his hat. He reached out and took hold of his wife’s head, trying to lift it off and put it on his head! That explains the title of Sacks’s book in which he related this true story: The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

Your manuscript is both good and original, but the part that is good is not original, and the part that is original is not good.

"For the Word of God is living, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Heb 4:12).

As the powerful chain saw cut its way through the oak tree, it uncovered an object foreign to a tree. There, embedded in the tree was a 22-bullet, once hidden from view, now made visible by the cutting asunder of the tree.

From the outside, the point of entry was no longer visible, but on the inside, the path of the bullet had clearly left its mark in the wood. Compared to the size of the tree, it was an extremely small mark, yet by its presence, had caused the area surrounding it to turn black with rot.

Had one been present when the bullet entered the tree, it would have been possible not only to see the mark, but to dig the bullet out. However, with the passing of time, the tree grew larger and stronger. The bark had grown thicker and the bullet remained hidden, a part of the tree.

Just as the bullet penetrated into the tree, so sin penetrates us. The point of entry may not be visible to anyone else, but the sin becomes embedded in our lives, and unless it is removed, causes a growing spot to rot.

1. A witness must have a first-hand experience of Christ. Hearsay is not acceptable in a court of law, nor in the court of this world’s opinion. People will listen only to what we have personally seen and heard.

2. A witness must be able to express himself verbally. We may witness effectively through our lives, our work, our relationships, our attitudes, our suffering and even our death, yet we must still “be ready at all times to answer anyone who asks you to explain the hope you have in you.” We must do so “with gentleness and respect,” and with the integrity of our lives demonstrating the truth of our words.

3. A witness will have confidence in the power of God. He relies on the power of the message of Christ and him crucified, and the power of the Holy Spirit. He knows that God can break through any defenses, and change any heart. This confidence will not be brash, but humble and sensitive, marked by much prayer. He knows that without God he can do nothing, but that with God all things are possible.

4. A witness will have compassion for the spiritually lost. He will care for them as individuals who matter deeply to God: made in his image, redeemed by his Son, and to be indwelt by his Spirit.

Hollywood actors and actresses don’t always set the best example when it comes to lifetime marriages. Mickey Rooney, Elizabeth Taylor, and Lana Turner each married eight times; Rex Harrison and Gloria Swanson, six times; and Richard Burton, Henry Fonda, Clark Gable, Judy Garland, Cary Grant, and Rita Hayworth, five times.

For better or for worse—but not for long!

They call it the marshmallow test. A researcher gives this choice to a 4-year-old: “I am leaving for a few minutes to run an errand and you can have this marshmallow while I am gone, but if you wait until I return, you can have two marshmallows.”

Researchers at Stanford University ran that test in the 1960s. A dozen years later, they restudied the same children and found that those who had grabbed the single marshmallow tended to be more troubled as adolescents. Astonishingly, the one-marshmallow kids also scored an average of 210 points less on SAT tests.

Daniel Goleman tells that tale in his new book, Emotional Intelligence, to illustrate the importance of early character training. But it is also an excellent reminder—as if any more are needed—of just how critical the early home years are in the life of a child.

In The Mask Behind the Mask, biographer Peter Evans says that actor Peter Sellers played so many roles he sometimes was not sure of his own identity. Approached once by a fan who asked him, “Are you Peter Sellers?” Sellers answered briskly, “Not today,” and walked on.

The old mountaineer had lived a full but not exactly saintly life and now was on his deathbed. He summoned his weeping wife. “Sara,” he said, “go to the fireplace and take out the third stone from the top.”

She did as instructed.

“Reach in there,” said her husband, “and bring out what you find.” Her fingers touched a large Mason jar, and with some effort she pulled it up. The jar was full of cash.

“Sara,” said the old man, “when I go, I’m going to take all that money with me. I want you to put that jar up in the attic by the window. I’ll get it as I go by on my way to heaven.”

His wife followed his instructions. That night the old mountaineer died. After the funeral his wife remembered the Mason jar and went to the attic. There was the jar still full of money and by the window.

“Oh,” the widow sighed. “I knew I should have put it in the basement.”

The old mountaineer had lived a full but not exactly saintly life and now was on his deathbed. He summoned his weeping wife. “Sara,” he said, “go to the fireplace and take out the third stone from the top.” She did as instructed. “Reach in there,” said her husband, “and bring out what you find.”

Her fingers touched a large Mason jar, and with some effort she pulled it up. The jar was full of cash.

“Sara,” said the old man, “when I go, I’m going to take all that money with me. I want you to put that jar up in the attic by the window. I’ll get it as I go by on my way to heaven.”

His wife followed his instructions. That night the old mountaineer died. After the funeral his wife remembered the Mason jar and went to the attic. There was the jar still full of money and by the window.

“Oh,” the widow sighed. “I knew I should have put it in the basement.”

A wealthy Englishman had in his valuable collection a rare violin which Fritz Kreisler, the celebrated virtuoso, greatly longed to possess. When the owner persisted in refusing to part with it, Kreisler begged permission to play it just once. That was granted. With trembling hands the artist tuned the instrument and then played. He played as only genius can play. He poured his heart into his music. The Englishman stood as one transfixed until the playing had ceased, and he did not speak until Kreisler had tenderly returned the instrument to the antique box, as gently a mother puts her baby to bed. "Take the violin," he burst out. "It is yours. I have no right to keep it. It ought to belong to the man who can play it as you did." That was odd reasoning, and yet it has something compellingly illustrative of the attitude that Paul wanted to arouse in the Corinthians who were made rich in Christ (1Co 1:5). In a sense, ought not an instrument belong to the master who can draw the finest music from it? Ought not your life and mine belong to the Master who can draw the noblest harmonies from them?

In one of his books, A. M. Hunter, the New Testament scholar, Source unknown relates the story of a dying man who asked his Christian doctor to tell him something about the place to which he was going. As the doctor fumbled for a reply, he heard a scratching at the door, and he had his answer.

“Do you hear that?” he asked his patient. “It’s my dog. I left him downstairs, but he has grown impatient, and has come up and hears my voice. He has no notion what is inside this door, but he knows that I am here. Isn’t it the same with you? You don’t know what lies beyond the Door, but you know that your Master is there.”

“Pali, this bull has killed me.” So said Jose Cubero, one of Spain’s most brilliant matadors, before he lost consciousness and died. Only 21 years old, he had been enjoying a spectacular career. However, in this l958 bullfight, Jose made a tragic mistake. He thrust his sword a final time into a bleeding, delirious bull, which then collapsed. Considering the struggle finished, Jose turned to the crowd to acknowledge the applause. The bull, however, was not dead. It rose and lunged at the unsuspecting matador, its horn piercing his back and puncturing his heart.

Just when we think we’ve finished off pride, just when we turn to accept the congratulations of the crowd, pride stabs us in the back. We should never consider pride dead before we are. - Craig Brian Larson

We had the meanest mother in the whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches. And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were convicts in a prison. She had to know who our friends were, and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do. She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds. Then, life was really tough! Mother wouldn’t let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them. While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother, we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other’s property, or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault. We never got drunk, took up smoking, stayed out all night, or a million other things, other kids did. Sundays were reserved for church, and we never missed once. We knew better than to ask to spend the night with a friend on Saturdays.

Now that we have left home, we are all God-fearing, educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was. I think that’s what is wrong with the world today. It just doesn’t have enough mean moms anymore.

We had the meanest parents in the whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches. And you can guess our parents fixed us a dinner that was different than other kids had too.

Our parents insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were convicts in a prison. They had to know who our friends were, and what we were doing with them. They insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but they had the nerve to break the “Child Labor Laws” by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think they would lay awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

They always insisted on us telling the truth the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, they could read our minds, and life was really tough.

They wouldn’t let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so they could meet them. While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 18.

Because of our parents we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other’s property, or ever arrested for any crime. It was all their fault. We never got drunk, took up smoking, stayed out all night, or a million other things other kids did.

Sundays were reserved for church, and we never missed once. We knew better than to ask to spend the night with a friend on Saturdays.

Now that we have left home, we are all God-fearing, educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like our parents were. The world just doesn’t have enough mean parents anymore.

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child," says William Shakespeare's King Lear. Well, then, how about a thankless jailbird? If you want an answer to that one, ask District Judge Phillip Killien of Seattle.

Recently, a young man appeared before Judge Killien on charges of car theft. The judge saw no reason to keep him locked up while he awaited court action. He released him on his own recognizance.

A short time later, Killien's own car disappeared.

Police quickly found the stolen car, and the one who stole it. Then, Judge Killien was in court in a new role, not as a judge, but as a witness, against the same young man he had released, who stood accused of stealing the magistrate's wheels.

A Japanese proverb reminds us that forgiving the unrepentant is like drawing pictures on the water. Ignoring sin may gain the sinner's temporary gratitude, but makes no lasting impression. A forgiven car thief is still a car thief if no change of character takes place.

How about you? Do you seek to escape justice or to be justified by God's grace and Christ's mercy? God offers you liberty, not license, in the cleansing blood of Christ.

Worship that is accepted by God is a privilege unique to the Christian (1Pe 2:5). It is not a right. I am permitted to offer acceptable worship only by the grace of God.

Therefore it is disheartening when children of God deliberately reject this privilege and wantonly absent themselves from the public assembly God has ordained for His glory and our good.

Consider briefly the significance of worship:

It is obedience to a divine command.

It is a means of nourishing the spirit.

It assists in achieving spiritual growth.

It encourages others in their spiritual development.

It shows the world where my priorities are.

It is one means of expressing my love for God.

It is an avenue God has provided by which I can praise His name.

It is the offering of spiritual sacrifices.

It is a way of showing my thanksgiving to God for all He has done for me.

It is a period of communion with God with the world shut out entirely.

It is an experience that should make the heart of every Christian glad!

Will you join your fellow Christians this Lord's day as they assemble to honor His name? Your Father will be looking for you.

The redeemed are dependent on God for all. All that we have—wisdom, the pardon of sin, deliverance, acceptance in God’s favor, grace, holiness, true comfort and happiness, eternal life and glory—we have from God by a Mediator; and this Mediator is God. God not only gives us the Mediator, and accepts His mediation, and of His power and grace bestows the things purchased by the Mediator, but He is the Mediator. Our blessings are what we have by purchase; and the purchase is made of God; the blessings are purchased of Him; and not only so, but God is the purchaser. Yes, God is both the purchaser and the price; for Christ, who is God, purchased these blessings by offering Himself as the price of our salvation.

The meek are those who know themselves to be poor in spirit, who have learned, honestly and from their hearts, to regret all the dehumanizing and subhuman things in which they have been involved as wanderers in this lost world, and who now in humility want only the will of God. “Moses was very meek, more than all men that were on the face of the earth” (Num. 12:3). His meekness was shown in his acceptance of what God ordained, including endless battles with those recalcitrant and disappointing people whom he was trying to lead from Egypt to Canaan, including, even, the enormous disappointment of himself not getting into the Promised Land.

Moses was a man with a fierce temper—it was this which had betrayed him during the time in the wilderness—but when God said, in effect, “Now look, Moses, in order to teach the whole world how much loss sin can bring, I’m not going to let you enter the land; the people will go in, but you won’t,” he did not curse God in furious protest; quietly, if sadly, he accepted God’s decision. That’s meekness. Meekness, for a child of God, means accepting uncomplainingly what comes, knowing that it comes from the hand of God who orders all things. What he sends, we accept in faith even if it hurts, knowing that it’s for our and others’ good.

Those who are meek—that is, prepared to forego their rights in this world, if that’s what God requires of them—will inherit the earth: they will be made infinitely rich in the future. I think Jesus was referring to the riches of heaven more than to earthly blessings when he spoke, echoing Psalm 37:11, of inheriting the earth. Mercies promised in earthly forms in the Old Testament regularly turn out to have celestial content in the New.

Men cannot understand how meekness is going to inherit the earth. Men believe in physical strength. They believe in arms and armies. They believe in craft and cunning. They believe in energy, will, and perseverance. They believe in things. They believe in matter. They believe in influencing their fellowmen, working upon them by threats, by pain, by fear. There are few men who believe that a humble man is being used in the strongest possible manner. They cannot credit that his humility shows that he is governed by his highest nature. They cannot conceive that an attitude of meekness is in perfect accord with the divine nature, which is dwelling in that meek one as a result of his new birth in Christ. In saying that the meek shall inherit the earth, our Lord declares this is the potential accomplishment of the man who is indwelt by Christ, by the Spirit of God within man.

Someone said the Lord is coming

And the time is a surprise.

Now I wanted to be all prepared

To meet Him in the skies.

I heard we must be specially dressed

If to Him we would draw nigh.

But I had all sorts of garments

And my heart with pride beat high.

Now the garment of my morality

That would surely get me in.

But when I looked it over

It was soiled and stained with sin.

Now the garment of self sacrifice

That couldn’t help but do

But when I saw how short it fell

It went into discard too.

Now the garment of personal goodness

Would pay any heavenly cost

I couldn’t even find that

Somehow it had gotten lost.

In my bright and shining humility

I’d go to be His bride.

My gaze fell upon it

It was tarnished with my pride.

One by one each was discarded

And my heart filled with despair.

I could never go to meet Him

I had nothing fit to wear.

As I wallowed there in gloom

He sent the words and music of a song

And it swelled out through the room.

Amazing grace—How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost but now was found

Was blind but now I see.

Thank God my eyes were opened

I gazed up in His face

Why the garment He would have me wear

He’d provided by His grace.

Gone was black despair and heartache

Nevermore I’d walk alone.

Dressed only in His righteousness

I’m ready when He calls His own.

Imagine a family of mice who lived all their lives in a large piano. To them in their piano-world came the music of the instrument, filling all the dark spaces with sound and harmony. At first the mice were impressed by it. They drew comfort and wonder from the thought that there was Someone who made the mice—though invisible to them—above, yet close to them. They loved to think of the Great Player whom they could not see.

Then one day a daring mouse climbed up part of the piano and returned very thoughtful. He had found out how the music was made. Wires were the secret; tightly stretched wires of graduated lengths which trembled and vibrated. They must revise all their old beliefs: none but the most conservative could any longer believe in the Unseen Player.

Later, another explorer carried the explanation further. Hammers were now the secret, numbers of hammers dancing and leaping on the wires. This was a more complicated theory, but it all went to show that they lived in a purely mechanical and mathematical world. The Unseen Player came to be thought of as a myth.

But the pianist continued to play.

Pastor Clifford S. Stewart of Louisville, Kentucky, sent his parents a microwave oven one Christmas. Here’s how he recalls the experience:

“They were excited that now they, too, could be a part of the instant generation. When Dad unpacked the microwave and plugged it in, literally within seconds, the microwave transformed two smiles into frown! Even after reading the directions, they couldn’t make it work. Two days later, my mother was playing bridge with a friend and confessed her inability to get that microwave oven even to boil water. ‘To get this darn thing to work,’ she exclaimed, ‘I really don’t need better directions; I just needed my son to come along with the gift!’”

When God gave the gift of salvation, he didn’t send a booklet of complicated instructions for us to figure out; he sent his Son.

James Dobson tells of a friend of his during their days in medical school. One day this man was walking across campus laden with books and briefcase. He passed by a fast food stand, and ordered something to eat and a milkshake to wash it down. He balanced it all on top of his briefcase and began looking for an empty table at which to sit. While looking, the milkshake got the better of him, and he bent down without looking in order to take a sip from the straw. The straw missed his mouth and ended up in his nose. Embarrassed, but not at a loss, he thought that if he straightened up the straw would stay in the shake. But when he lifted his head, the straw came out of the shake and remained in his nose, dripping the milkshake down the front of his suit. In a moment, all his confidence evaporated.

In describing one of the new movies of the day, a critic wrote, "The plot moves rapidly down the sewer." It would not be so damaging to those who watch such trash if the mind could be equipped, like your kitchen sink, with a garbage disposal. Then you could flush away all the filth and be done with it, but the mind does not work that way. It stores up impressions for a lifetime. The only way to protect the mind is to expose it to only the best!

An unknown writer said, “This Book is the mind of God, the state of man, the way of salvation, the doom of sinners, and the happiness of believers. Its doctrines are holy, its precepts are binding; its histories are true, and its decisions are immutable.

Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe, practice it to be holy. It contains light to direct you, food to support you, and comfort to cheer you. It is the traveler’s map, the pilgrim’s staff, the pilot’s compass, the soldier’s sword, and the Christian’s character. Here paradise is restored, heaven opened, and the gates of hell disclosed. Christ is its grand subject, our good its design, and the glory of God its end. It should fill the memory, rule the heart, and guide the feet. Read it slowly, frequently, prayerfully. It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of glory, and a river of pleasure. Follow its precepts and it will lead you to Calvary, to the empty tomb, to a resurrected life in Christ; yes, to glory itself, for eternity.

The letter says this, “It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us” (Acts 15:28 NIV). Unity in prayer brings the mind of the Spirit.

When the Spirit’s leadership is followed, calm supplants storm and blessing banishes battle. Dr. G. Campbell Morgan commented, “We must freely admit we very seldom hear this language. We do read that a matter was carried by an overwhelming majority, but that is a very different thing. An overwhelming majority often leaves behind it a minority disaffected and dangerous. We shall come to unanimity when we are prepared to discuss freely [and] frankly our absolute differences, on the basis of a common desire to know the mind of the Lord. If we come...having made our minds up that so it must be, then we hinder the Holy Spirit, and make it impossible for Him to make know His mind and will. But if we come, perfectly sure in our minds, but wanting to know what the Lord’s mind is, then ere the council ends, today as yesterday, the moment will come when we shall be able to say with a fine dignity and a splendid force, ‘It seems good to the Holy Spirit and to us’”

Kissimmee, Fla.—The tornado lifted Jonathan Waldick, only 18 months old, from his bed. It carried him 50 feet. It injected him into a five-foot-high clump of debris that corkscrewed itself into the splintered trunk of an oak tree.

And there, after a frantic, 30-minute search, Jonathan was found, only one foot visible but wiggling with life. There he was found, still cocooned in his Perfect Sleeper mattress, still resting on his purple striped sheet.

This week’s vicious tornadoes carried another 18-month-old toddler out of his father’s arms and to his death. But Jonathan emerged from his vault of debris with two scratches on his scalp and two tiny welts on his chin.

Relatives and friends call Jonathan Waldick “The Miracle Baby.” They call the event “The Miracle at 1400 Fair Oaks.”

Jonathan is 3 feet tall. He weighs 40 pounds. He has hazel eyes and sandy brown hair.

Here’s his story, told largely by his guardian:

Jonathan and his 4-year old sister, Destiny, lived with Shirley Driver at 1400 Fair Oaks Ave., a block outside the Kissimmee city limits. Driver, 68, is their great-grandmother. She is raising them because of family problems.

Soon after bedtime Sunday night, the tornadoes arrived. Destiny and Driver were asleep in one bedroom of the wood-frame house. Jonathan was alone in another bedroom.

Driver: “I heard the wind roar. We just got slammed. I knew it was a tornado. I grabbed Destiny. The walls were going. The roof came off.

“Destiny said, ‘Grandma, you’re holding me too tight,’ but I couldn’t let go.”

The tornado did its work and passed, though the wind still howled and rain still came in great blustery torrents. Driver stood amid her crumbled house. She still held Destiny very, very tightly.

But the other child was missing, blown away. Young Jonathan, lost in the havoc.

“I’ve got to find Jonathan,” Driver howled, mostly to the wind. “I’ve got to find Jonathan.

“Somebody help me.”

A few neighbors arrived, including Steven Vernelson.

Driver: “I looked. Lord, I looked for Jonathan. I didn’t care if I cut my foot. As long as I found him, I didn’t care. But I couldn’t find him.

“Finally, Steven saw just this little foot, over there by the tree. We saw him all folded up in the mattress like in a cocoon. He didn’t move. We thought he was dead.

“Then, he wiggled his foot.

“He’s alive. He’s alive.”

Driver spent the night in the hospital. Heart palpitations. Jonathan was fine.

“He had a magic carpet ride and never knew it,” said Delbert Gassert, Jonathan’s uncle.

On Tuesday afternoon, Driver returned to her homesite for the first time since the storm. She saw devastation, nothing recognizable as a house. She saw the spot where Jonathan was found.

Arriving in a relative’s van, she reached over and grabbed the hand of her sister, Janice Gassert, who lives nearby.

“Oh, my gosh,” Driver said, and her eyes watered. “Jonathan lived through that.”

Other relatives and even some strangers also made pilgrimages to visit the site.

The mattress and the sheet were still there, against the tree trunk, nearly invisible, deep within the mound of wallboard and furniture and tree limbs and a wrecked Ford Thunderbird.

That anyone could be injected so deeply into this seemed astonishing.

“I think God has something planned for this boy,” Janice Gassert said. “I really believe there’s a special plan.”

A few feet away, one of Driver’s old phonograph records sat atop the wreckage, left there by the wind. It was a recording by the Raker Evangelistic Party, a gospel group.

The first song on the album was called, “Oh Lord, You’ve Been So Good To Me.”