It's Hard To Steer A Parked Car.

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.

God, I Pray Light These Idle Sticks Of My Life And May I Burn Up For Thee.

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.

Missionaries Are Very Human Folks, Simply A Bunch Of Nobodies Trying To Exalt Somebody.

Rest In This-it Is His Business To Lead, Command, Impel, Send, Call, Or Whatever You Want To Call It. It Is Your Business To Obey, Follow, Move, Respond, Or What Have You... The Sound Of 'gentle Stillness' After All The Thunder And Wind Have Passed Will Be The Ultimate Word From God.