If Only I Had!

A man was appointed to take care of a railroad drawbridge. By and by a friend came with his boat and said to the man, "Run off the bridge and I will get my boat through before the cars come." "I can not do it," said he; "my orders are strict." Soon another man, an intimate friend came and he over-persuaded him and he ran the bridge off; and just as it was balanced on the pier the whistle of the lightning train came screaming around the curve. The bridge tender saw the inevitable fate. What could he do but stand and gaze at the fearful and the fatal mistake of his life. Just as the lightning train came crashing over he bridge making the fatal plunge, that man was heard to cry out "If I only had!"-- and then his reason was dethroned.

He was taken to an asylum; and long, long years, it is said, before his death he paced the halls and rooms of that asylum wringing his hands and crying "If I only had! If I only had! If I only had! If I only had!" -- evidently meaning, "If I only had done as I knew I ought to do--kept the bridge closed-- all would have been well." I thought many a man will spend eternity crying, "If I only had! If I only had!" I wonder if I speak to one young man or old man or lady in this congregation who tonight by this Bible sees your soul, of immense worth, and will forever in despair crying, "If I only had! Oh! that memorable night when I heard Mr. Graves speak on the worth of the soul and I believed it, --If I only had given my heart to Jesus!" I wonder if I speak to one in this house tonight who will forever be crying out with the screams of the dammed, "If I only had! If I only had!"

If only we had spread the gospel more, that soul who died last night, may have died with Jesus in his heart. He wouldn't be in Hell right now.

A Teenager's View of Heaven

I hope that this essay will touch many folks lives!!

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. He later told his father, Bruce; "It's the best thing I ever wrote..." It also was the last. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted. The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. 'I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death.

Brian's Essay: The Room...

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked 'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,' 'Comfort I have Given,' 'Jokes I Have Laughed at .' Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've yelled at my brothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'Things I Have Done in My Anger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I have watched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked 'Lustful Thoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content..

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.. The title bore 'People I Have Shared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here.. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. 'No!' I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was 'No, no,' as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It is finished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

'For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.'-John 3:16.

'I can do all things through Christ which strengthenth me.'-Phil. 4:13.

My life because of the cross

As I stood on that rugged hill,
I thought, how wicked it would be,
Christ gave his own life for sin's bill,
Yet the world forgot, I can see.

He shed his very own red blood,
And died on that old rugged cross.
Without his Father, all alone he stood,
Yet the world seemed it not a loss.

While on this old cross,
My Lord did cry.
He did the will of his boss,
So with him we won't die.

We can live with him forever
Because of that day ago so long
If we trust him, we will fear never,
And because of him I now have a song.

I'll sing that song through eternity
Because he died on Calv'ry
How greatful I can be
That one day, Him I'll see.

That song I'll sing forever of:
"Amazing Grace How sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now I'm found;
'Twas blind but now I see."

So many songs that it would take,
For me to tell of what all it means
What he did on that cross for my sake
I hope that of what I now do he will be keen.

I will not sing, I will not write,
I do not have the time
I can't wait until his face is my next sight.
So because of this, against him I can do no crime

I cannot tell all that the cross means to me
But Jesus died on that cross for you as well.
I know his face in Heaven I can't wait to see
He died for you, and His grace to you I cannot sell

Accept him today
You'll not be the same
For you I will pray (that)
In that book will be your name.

September 11th through the eyes of the Statue of Liberty

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the scene that would change America forever. No longer would her people be able to walk down the streets unafraid. No longer would they be able to travel the globe freely. Soon they would look upon foreigners with distrust and prejudge many based on apearance. One great nation was being attacked. This attack on the American freedoms was felt most greatly by me.

“Why me?” you might ask. I was standing in New York Harbor when the first plane struck, and I was still there when the second plane disappeared into tower number two of the World Trade Center. I watched in horror as the two towers fell. My heart ached at the senseless loss of lives. I knew that this event would become part of America’s great history. I wanted so much to go and help those people, but for the body of water separating us, I could not.

Suddenly, I became aware of a tugging. It became a tug of war between good and evil! Unseen hands were trying to rip that precious Declaration of Independence from my grasp! I clung to it with all my strength and pressed it close to my heart. “No!” I cried.

I was hugging it to my heart! The broken chains about my feet were closing in once again to lock me into bondage, but some unseen force of patriotism was saving me, and keeping the chains fallen away. A breath of hateful wind caused my flame, my eternal flame, to flicker, but only for a moment. The dust from the crumbling towers was trying to snuff out the flame in defeat. But again an unseen act of unity or maybe the American spirit rekindled that light. Such an attack on our great nation, and me, must not go unpunished! Evil must not have its way. America must fight back when she realizes this was no accident. We must be united as one to defeat this great foe.

My crown began tingling, as I felt the eyes of the world on me. The world, holding its breath, was waiting, watching, andwondering. “Will this great nation rise again?”

“Yes! She will!” was my triumphant reply.

"Give me your tired, your poor, wour huddlede masses yearning to breath free; send those, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me; I lift my lam beside the golden door."

For at that moment President Bush was standing a-top the rubble at Ground Zero saying, “The people who knocked down these buildings will hear all of us soon.”

“U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A.!” was the chant screaming its way through all of America. Her people, as one, came together to support and defend their freedoms! They were not going to allow these terrorists to destroy the land that they loved. “God Bless America!” was their unanimous cry. These Americans were not going to turn the other cheek. They were going to defeat terrorism and defend those gripped by it.

Dear fellow Americans,

Today, I am still standing here proudly in New York Harbor, reflecting and remembering the events that once shook America six years ago. May we never forget September 11, 2001. May that anger of being attacked burn in our hearts until terrorism is snuffed out forever. May we never forget the freedoms given to us by God and fought for by our forefathers. May we defend and protect these freedoms with all of our strength and all of our might. Never forget, my America, that day, September 11, 2001.

Yours Truly,

“The First Lady of the World”
Lady Liberty