A minister concluded his sermon one Sunday by saying, "If there's someone here who wants help in getting to know God, and you would like me to pray for you, please raise your hand." A young man stood up and said, "Please pray for me, sir. The burden of my sin is too heavy to bear."
Years ago, a young boy wandered from case to case in a candy store, trying to decide what to buy. His mother, tired of waiting, called, "Hurry up and spend your money! We must be going." To this he replied, "But Mom, I only have one penny, so I've got to spend it carefully."
The disciples and early followers of our Lord asserted with a zeal born of heartfelt conviction that Jesus of Nazareth was a living Savior, not a martyred teacher and philosopher. They held this truth so dear that they were willing to suffer torture and death rather than renounce it.
There were three crosses on Calvary's hill. On one was a man dying in sin—he did not accept Jesus. On another was a man dying to sin—he trusted Jesus as Savior and Lord (Luke 23:40-43). And on the middle cross was One dying for sin. He could die for others because He was God's Son and had no sin of His own. The center cross made all the difference for those two men hanging beside Jesus—the difference between an eternal hell and an eternal heaven.
In his famous painting titled A Helping Hand, Emile Renouf depicted an old fisherman seated in a boat, with a young girl beside him. Both the elderly gentleman and the child have their hands on a huge oar. The fisherman is looking down fondly and admiringly at the girl.
A woman said to a preacher, "I have a habit that I know is hurting my testimony—the habit of exaggeration. I start to tell something and I go on and on enlarging the story. People suspect that it's not true, and they lose confidence in me. I'm trying to get over it. Could you help me?"
A man who lived far out in the country bought his clothing from a mail-order catalog. At the bottom of the printed order form he noticed this statement: "If we do not have the article you ordered in stock, may we substitute?"
When I was a young boy, I knew that my father was extremely fond of black walnuts. We didn't often get them, so the day I found one on the ground I was delighted! My first thought was to have my mother crack it so I could eat it myself, but then my love for my father took over. I saved it for him.