Est.

“God’s love is deeper than human sorrow, and how deep that is my appointed lot gives me daily and deepening experience. But drop your plummet-line into the deepest sea of sorrow, and at the end of all your soundings “underneath are the everlasting arms.” God’s love is deeper than death, and there are multitudes who know how deep grim death can be. “Just twelve months ago,” said a near friend of mine a week or two ago, “I dug a deep grave!” Aye, and I know it was deep enough. But the grave-digger’s spade cannot get beneath our Father’s love. God’s love is deeper than the deepest grave ever dug! “And entering into the sepulchre they saw an angel,” and you can never dig into any dreary, dreary dwelling of death which is beyond the reach of those white-robed messengers of eternal love. Yes, God’s love is deeper than death. “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” And God’s love is deeper than sin, One night, when I was recently crossing the Atlantic, an officer of our ...

I heard this poem earlier today.  While I knew the premise years ago, it was good to have this powerful reminder.  "He had no rights: No right to a soft bed, and a well-laid table; No right to a home of His own, a place where His own pleasure might be sought; No right to choose pleasant, congenial companions, those who could understand Him and sympathize with Him; No right to shrink away from filth and sin, to pull His garments closer around Him and turn aside to walk in cleaner paths; No right to be understood and appreciated; no, not by those upon whom He had poured out a double portion of His love; No right even never to be forsaken by His Father, the One who meant more than all to Him. His only right was silently to endure shame, spitting, blows; to take His place as a sinner at the dock; to bear my sins in anguish on the cross. He had no rights. And I? A right to the "comforts" of life? No, but a right to the love of God for my pillow. A right to physical safety? No...