Anecdote by Arlene Creswell — "Dear Sunday School Teacher"

You probably don’t remember me. I was one of many little girls who graced your Sunday school class. I came to you dressed up in dotted Swiss and patent leather, looking like somebody’s darling, but sincerely wishing I were somewhere else. I squirmed and fidgeted during your story of Noah, and said I didn’t care why God sent the flood, I wanted my daddy.

In junior high, I was the one who passed notes to Tommy; the one who tricked Paula into reading the seventh chapter of Solomon’s Song for a Sunday school devotional; the one who insisted you explain (in front of the whole class) who Jesus would decide to save if two people were drowning.

I was the one in the college class (just before I “dropped out” entirely) who asked you, as you spoke of God’s unconditional love, if it really mattered anyway, since rumor had it God was dead.

But one dreadful night, dear teacher, my world crashed in around me/ Fear and bitterness, and depression threatened to push me across that fine line that separates the rational from the otherwise. In my utter desperation I cried out to the God you assured me existed.

I begged him to rescue me from myself, to save me, to show me the way to Him. Jesus responded to me, dear teacher, through a verse you patiently prodded me to memorize one Sunday as I squirmed and fidgeted in my dotted Swiss:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes unto the father, except by me.”

He comforted me during that long, lonely night as I repeated those precious verses you taught me year after year. The truth and strength of those passages provided a lifeline at the end of my rope, a footbridge across that terrifying chasm between darkness and light.

You probably don’t remember me, dear Sunday school teacher. But I remember you; How eternally grateful I will be for your patience, your persistence, and your love. How sorry I am that I have lost track of you and can’t come to you and hug you, and share with you my glorious (though belated discovery) that He lives! Just like you said all along.

Thoughts on the Lord's Prayer by Charles H. Spurgeon

This prayer (Matthew 6:9-13) begins where all true prayer must commence, with the spirit of adoption,

Our Father

There is no acceptable prayer until we can say, “I will arise, and go unto my Father.”  This child-like spirit soon perceives the grandeur of the Father

“which art in heaven,”

and ascends to devout adoration,

“hallowed be Thy Name.”

The child lisping, “Abba, Father,” grows into the cherub crying, “Holy, Holy, Holy.”  There is but a step from rapturous worship to the glowing missionary spirit, which is a sure outgrowth of filial love and reverent adoration---

“Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”

Next follows the heartfelt expression of dependence upon God ---

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

Being further illuminated by the Spirit, he discovers that he is not only dependent, but sinful, hence he entreats for mercy.

“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

And being pardoned, having the righteousness of Christ imputed, and knowing his acceptance with God, he humbly supplicates for holy perseverance,

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

That is sanctification in its negative and positive forms.  As the result of all this, there follows a triumphant ascription of praise,

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

We rejoice that our King reigns in providence and shall reign in grace, from the river even to the ends of the earth, and of His Kingdom there shall be no end. Thus from a sense of adoption, up to fellowship with our reigning Lord, this short model of prayer conducts the soul.  Lord, teach us thus to pray.

Anecdote by Charles H. Spurgeon

Charles Spurgeon, the noted English preacher of the Word, noticed that the weather vane on the roof of a farm building bore the phrase “God is Love” and was troubled. “Do you think God’s love is a changeable as that weather vane?” he asked the farmer.

“You miss the point, sir,” replied the farmer. “It’s on the weather vane because no matter which way the wind is blowing, God is still love.”

Anecdote by Daniel Webster — Words of Wisdom

If we abide by the principles taught in the Bible, our country will prosper. But if we and our posterity neglect the instructions and authority in this book, no man can tell how sudden a catastrophe may overtake us and bury our glory in profound obscurity.   

This is the Book that inspired thousands of men and women to travel to a New World where they could live and worship God in freedom.

This is the Book our forefathers drew upon for the great principles included in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

This is the Book that the people of America --- in every walk of life --- have turned to for strength, for comfort and for guidance.

This is the Book that is in every court of this broad land, a reminder of America ’s ideal of freedom and justice for all.

This is the Book that its enemies burn --- the Book they smear and fear, because it proclaims the dignity of the individual and teaches that all men are created in the image of God.

America still needs the Bible!

We need courage to face today’s problems and divine wisdom to solve them, just as our forefathers did.

We need to renew the spirit of faith in the Book that is the foundation of our personal well-being, and cornerstone of our country’s greatness.

Let this Book revive in us the spirit of our fathers to face tomorrow unafraid.

Let us too turn to the Book that reveals the mind of God, His holiness, His love for lost sinners and His salvation through Jesus Christ.

Poem by W.E. Henley — "Invictus" vs. Poem by Dorothea Day — "The Captain"

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced or cried aloud

Under the bludgeoning of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the grave

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matter not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishment the scroll.

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

The Captain  

Out of the light that dazzles me,

Bright as the sun from pole to pole

I thank the God I know to be

For Christ ---- the Conqueror of my soul.

Since His the sway of circumstance

I would not wince, nor cry aloud.

Under that rule which men call chance,

My head, with joy, is humbly bowed.

Beyond this place of sin and tears,

That life with Him ---- and His the aid

That spike the menace of the years,

Keeps, and will keep me unafraid

I have no fear though strait the gate;

He cleared from punishment the scroll,

Christ is the Master of my fate!

Christ is the Captain of my soul.

Poem by Margaret E. Barber — My Cup Runneth Over

There is always something over,

When we trust our gracious Lord;

Every cup He fills o’erfloweth,

His great rivers all are broad.

Nothing narrow, nothing stinted,

Ever issues from His store;

To His own He gives full measure,

Running over, evermore.

There is always something over,

When we. From the Father’s hand,

Take our portion with thanksgiving,

Praising for the path He planned.

Satisfaction, full and deepening,

Fills the soul, and lights the eye,

When the heart has trust Jesus

All its need to satisfy.

There is always something over,

When we tell of all His love;

Unplumbed depths still lie beneath us,

Unscaled heights rise far above;

Human lips can never utter

All His wondrous tenderness,

We can only praise and wonder,

And His name forever bless.

Poem by Unknown — "The Desert"

I said: ”The desert is so wide!”

I said: “The desert is so bare!

What springs to quench my thirst are there?

Whence shall I from the tempest hide?”

I said: “The desert is so lone!

Nor gentle voice, nor loving face

Will brighten any smallest space,”

I paused or ere my moan was done!

I heard a flow of hidden springs;

Before me palms rose green and fair;

The birds were singing; all the air

Did shine and stir with angels’ wings!

And One said mildly: “Why, indeed,

Take over-anxious thought for that

The morrow bringeth? See you not

The Father knoweth what you need?”