Illustrations

A young pastor in Ohio also worked at a feed processing plant in order to make ends meet. Each night when he went home, his boys would look at him and say, “Boy, Dad, you sure are dusty!”

He would grumble to himself, but then smile and say, “Yes, I sure am dusty.” One Saturday morning, as he was washing his car, he looked over and saw his oldest son, 4 years old at that time, begin to pick up small stones from the driveway and rub them onto his pants.

The father asked, “What are you doing?”

“I want to be dusty like you dad,” came the reply.

“The greatest gift a father can give to his children is to love their mother.”—Unknown

In a story about some of the worst Mother’s Day gifts ever given, the Houston Chronicle repoted a story about Jerry Maltz giving his wife an iron. He got the message when she gave him an ironing board for Father’s Day.

Source: Houston Chronicle, May 7, 2013

A Roman Catholic priest in Belgium rebuked a young woman and her brother for reading that “bad book” pointing to the Bible. “Mr. Priest,” she replied, “a little while ago my brother was an idler, a gambler, a drunkard, and made such a noise in the house that no one could stay in it. Since he began to read the Bible, he works with industry, goes no longer to the tavern, no longer touches cards, brings home money to his poor old mother, and our life at home is quiet and delightful. How comes it, Mr.

In the ancient times, a box on the ear given by a master to a slave meant liberty, little would the freedman care how hard was the blow. By a stroke from the sword the warrior was knighted by his monarch, small matter was it to the new-made knight if the royal hand was heavy.

The story is told of various church members and their attitude toward the midweek service:

Brother A. thought it looked like rain, and concluded that his family, including himself of course, had better remain at home. On Thursday evening it was raining very hard, and the same brother hired a carriage, and took his whole family to the Academy of Music, to hear M. Agassiz lecture on the “Intelligence of the Lobster.”

I believe in a physician when I put my case into that physician’s hands, and trust him to cure me. I believe in a lawyer when I leave my case in his hands, and trust him to plead for me. I believe in a banker when I put money into his hands, and allow him to keep it on my behalf.

I believe in my Saviour when I take Him to be my Saviour, when I put my helpless case into His hands, and trust Him to do what I cannot do for myself—save me from my sin. Have you done so?

A Hindoo fakir, with matted hair and ash-besmeared body, was sitting under a tree in deep meditation. His eyes fell on the leaves of a torn book which someone had tossed away. It was part of the New Testament. He smoothed out the crumpled pages, and read words which brought strange comfort to his hungry soul.

“The bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is the crowning proof of Christianity. If the resurrection did not take place, then Chrsitianity is a false religion. If it did take place, then Christ is God and the Christian faith is absolute truth.”—Henry Morris

“Before we can reason the resurrection out of history we must reason Paul and Christianity out of existence. We must admit the miracle or frankly confess that we stand before an inexplicable mystery.”—Dr Philip Schaff

In the city of Hanover is a graveyard which has been closed for a number of years—the Garden Churchyard. Owing to its antiquated monuments and the fact of its being the resting place of a number of celebrated characters, it awakens the liveliest curiosity. A few paces east of the unassuming little church in the graveyard is a monument tottering from its foundation. It is built in the form of steps, and the massive stones are secured by heavy iron clasps. The monument was erected in the year 1782.