goes to tell them. Are we waiting for some miraculous method, maybe a voice from heaven, or in some unusual way a tract will get into the hands of a native, and in that way people will be converted? The church today seems to try to absolve itself from any in volvement in personally reaching oth ers with the Gospel. We are not asked, “How shall they understand without a piece of literature, but rather, “How shall they hear without a preacher?” God’s great method of reaching men and women with the Gospel is through the method of personal witnessing. Are we actually doing it? A very quick look around the world indicates how far short' we are falling in this sacred task. It is true, of course, that a lot of people who hear the name of the Lord do not call on Him in faith unto sal vation. Perhaps no more than one out of six people in America is a born- again Christian. The rest have heard the Name, to be sure, but they are without Christ; merely a “head” knowl edge. Think of the scores that are en meshed in some false cult or “ism.” The great task of the true church to day is to preach the Gospel. We must do so in our own churches and then to pray the Lord of the harvest to take our young people sending them out to the ends of the earth. That is the sacred task of this historic institution, the Bible Institute of Los Angeles. These ambassadors of the cross may fly an air plane, run a printing press, distribute literature, perform medical tasks, but essentially they go forth to preach this Word, for “How shall they hear with out a preacher?” The truth is summarized in this blessed thought, “How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!” (Romans 10:15). What we need today is a long look at our feet. They can be beautiful beyond measure when they are engaged in the business of taking the message of eternal life to the ends of the earth. May God help us, by His grace, to do just exactly that!
SPILT M ILK A typical day, crowded full of things; Household chores and a phone that rings. The children rushing in at three. Shouting with laughter and full of glee. She tried to be helpful, saying, "Here, I'll pour!" And milk is spilled on the freshly waxed floor. "Shame on you; now see what you've done (Was that my voice?) You naughty one!" "I'm sorry. Mommy." " 'Sorry won't do! You go to your room 'till I call you." The hours slip by, supper is past, The children are bathed and in bed at last. When out of the darkness a question from Sue, "When you're naughty, Mommy, who punishes you?" The house is quiet, my day is through. And so I turn, dear God, to you! To you who gives me each new day, Another time to go Thy way. Another chance — all sins forgiven, A gift of love from God in heaven. And suddenly the teardrops start, For I have failed to do my part, To teach my children the kind of love, Given to us from God above. I, whose sins are so much more Than a glass of milk spilled on the floor, Forget how much I count on Thee accepting "I'm sorry" each day from me. Forgive me, Father — Forgive me, Sue — And help me remember my whole life through . . . "When you're naughtly, Mommy — who punishes you?" —Marian Palmer Without rocks, the brook would lose its song. * You can't keep a chip on the shoulder you put to the wheel. * *
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