For My Generation I Must Have The

It's Hard To Steer A Parked Car.

Our Young Men Are Going Into The Professional Fields Because They Don't 'feel Called' To The Mission Field. We Don't Need A Call; We Need A Kick In The Pants. We Must Begin Thinking In Terms Of 'going Out,' And Stop Our Weeping Because 'they Won't Come In.' Who Wants To Step Into An Igloo? The Tombs Themselves Are Not Colder Than The Churches. May God Send Us Forth.

It Makes Me Boil When I Think Of The Power We Profess And The Utter Impotency Of Our Action. Believers Who Know One-tenth As Much As We Do Are Doing One-hundred Times More For God, With His Blessing And Our Criticism. Oh If I Could Write It, Preach It, Say It, Paint It, Anything At All, If Only God's Power Would Become Known Among Us.

Eternity Shall Be At Once A Great Eye-opener And A Great Mouth-shutter.

Father, Let Me Be Weak That I Might Loose My Clutch On Everything Temporal. My Life, My Reputation, My Possessions, Lord, Let Me Loose The Tension Of The Grasping Hand. Even, Father, Would I Lose The Love Of Fondling. How Often I Have Released A Grasp Only To Retain What I Prized By 'harmless' Longing, The Fondling Touch. Rather, Open My Hand To Received The Nail Of Calvary, As Christ's Was Opened- That I, Releasing All, Might Be Released, Unleashed From All That Binds Me Now. He Thought Heaven, Yea, Equality With God, Not A Thing To Be Clutched At. So Let Me Release My Grasp.