Baby that I was, I shut my lips in a sort of reckless
despair, and thought that if I could not be good, I might as well
be naughty, and enjoy it. But somehow I could not enjoy it. I
felt sorry and ashamed and degraded whenever I knew that I had
been cross or selfish.
I heard them talk about Jesus as if He were a dead man, one who
died a great while ago, whose death made a great difference to
us, I could not understand how. It seemed like a lovely story,
the loveliest in the world, but it sounded as if it were only a
story, even to those who repeated it to me; something that had
happened far away in the past.
But one day a strange minister came into the Sabbath-school in
our little chapel, and spoke to us children about Him, oh! so
differently!
"Children," he said, "Jesus is not dead. He is alive: He loves
you, and wants you to love Him! He is your best Friend, and He
will show you how to be good."
My heart beat fast. I could hardly keep back the tears. The New
Testament, then, did really mean what it said! Jesus said He
would come back again, and would always be with those who loved
Him.
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