Satan is so much more in earnest than we are – he buys up the opportunity while we are wondering how much it will cost.
If a sudden jar can cause me to speak an impatient, unloving word, then I know nothing of Calvary love. For a cup brimful of sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however suddenly jolted.
It is a solemn thing to find oneself drawn out in prayer which knows no relief till the soul it is burdened with is born. It is no less solemn afterwards, until Christ is formed in them.
Our loving Lord is not just present, but nearer than the thought can imagine – so near that a whisper can reach Him.
What is the secret to great living? Entire separation to Christ and devotion to Him. Thus speaks every man and woman whose life has made more than a passing flicker in the spiritual realm. It is the life that has no time for trifling that counts.
Prayer is the core of the day. Take prayer out, and the day would collapse...
A cup brimful of sweetness cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, no matter how suddenly jarred.
Those who think too much of themselves don’t think enough.
All along, let us remember we are not asked to understand, but simply to obey...
Even though we must walk in the land of fear, there is no need to fear. The power of His resurrection comes before the fellowship of His sufferings.
Missionary life is simply a chance to die.
If the ultimate, the hardest, cannot be asked of me; if my fellows hesitate to ask it and turn to someone else, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
If I am perturbed by the reproach and misunderstanding that may follow action taken for the good of souls for whom I must give account; if I cannot commit the matter and go on in peace and in silence, remembering Gethsemane and the cross, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
Can we follow the Savior far, who have no wound or scar?
Does it not stir up our hearts, to go forth and help them, does it not make us long to leave our luxury, our exceeding abundant light, and go to them that sit in darkness?
The night I sailed for China, March 3, 1893, my life, on the human side, was broken, and it never was mended again. But He has been enough.
God Hold us to that which drew us first, when the Cross was the attraction, and we wanted nothing else.
If I say, “Yes, I forgive, but I cannot forgive,” as though the God, who twice a day washes all the sands on all the shores of all the world, could not wash such memories from my mind, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
I would rather burn out than rust out.
Nothing is worth doing at all, nothing is worth writing, which does not do something which will last.