SONS OF
D R . D IC K H ILLIS For over thirty days the people had known nothing but drenching rain. It is little wonder that village populations panicked as mud slides buried their homes, often wiping out entire families. They had a right to panic for not once during the longest month in their lives had the sun shone its face. Not once had the stars been seen. Their streets became rivers, their farms lakes. By the tens of thousands men and beasts perished in the greatest deluge in history. Three boys lived through the storm. They were delivered from the watery grave that swallowed their friends and neighbors by simply get ting into the boat they had helped their father build. As the water level rose, the dying people looked upon Noah's children as the "sons of privilege." They were safe. They could ride out the storm. There have always been those fortunate ones. Things seem to go just right for them. We have all dreamed of what it would be like to be a "son of privilege." A child of Harlem dreams of a child of Suburbia and wishes he were a "son of privilege." A city boy looks with envy at the wild freedom of the country lad as he urges his horse to a faster gallop across the meadows. A farmer's son feels cheated because he has never experienced the thrill of accelerating a powerful sports car as his city cousin. Even adults dream can concoct their list of privileges they have never experienced. A young businessman thinks of the Fords, the Rockefellers, the Hunts and the Pews. Those with spirits of adventure think of the Lindberghs and the Astronauts. Christians too can name their "sons of privilege" — the Wesleys, Whitefields, Sundays and Grahams. Or looking abroad they relive the stories of the foreign missionaries — the Careys, the Livingstones, the Taylors and the Judsons — and reliving they wish they too might be "sons of privilege." I have news for you. If you are a child of God (I am tempted to believe
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