Suffering for Christ - Worth It all!

While Paul suffered, he was not overwhelmed. He came out at last as victor rather than victim. This cannot be said of Paul’s enemies,
and the early tyrants and persecutors of Christianity. Those who sought to destroy these Christians came themselves to destruction.
And what destruction it was!

Nero was driven from his throne and, perceiving his life in danger became his own executioner; Domitian was killed by his own servants;
Hadrian died of a distressing disease, which was accompanied by great mental agony; Severus never prospered in his affairs after he persecuted the Church, and was killed by the treachery of his son; Maximinus reigned but three years, and died a violent death;
Decius was drowned in a marsh, and his body never found; Valerian was taken prisoner by the Persians, and after enduring the horrors of captivity for several years, was flayed alive; Diocletian was compelled to resign his empire, and became insane;
Macimanus Valerius was deprived of his government and strangled himself;
Macimanus Galerius was suddenly and awfully removed by death.

("Second Corinthians: Where Life Endures” By Roy L. Laurin page # 202)

How can we get power to copy our model, Jesus Christ?

1. Learn of Christ. Do not look to men. In the eleventh chapter of Hebrews Paul tells of Old Testament worthies, but lest we should try to imitate them he immediately turns away our eyes and fixes them on Jesus, --"looking unto Jesus.”
2. Claim by faith the promises of the indwelling Christ. Until we are born again, and He lives in us by the Spirit, all our efforts will be vain.
3. Keep in touch with Him. Get better acquainted with Him. Talk to Him in prayer. Let Him talk to you through the Bible.
It is a recognized fact that two persons thrown together a good deal are apt to become alike in habits of thought and conduct, and even in looks.
It is said of the early disciples that the rulers “took knowledge of them that they had been with Jesus.” Moses had a shining face after he had been with God.
- Dwight Lynn Moody

Mrs. C.H. Spurgeon

No grander example of the possibilities which the position of a preacher’s wife affords, could be offered to her sisters of the manse or to the world at large than Mrs. C. H. Spurgeon, whose death on October 22nd, 1903, has left the Church poorer than it yet realizes. Called to a position of rarer difficulty at an early age, her husband already raised on dazzling heights of popularity, which few could have endured without being lifted up with pride, it was an ordeal for the retiring girl to be thus suddenly thrust into prominence. Then when the storms of abuse, and slander broke on her loved one’s head, she might well have been crushed and broken, but she bore up and by her words of comfort, her strong affection and her piety and faith, helped him to weather the gale. In every branch of his work she threw her heart and soul, she stinted herself to render financial assistance to the various causes, and to the smallest detail acted with her husband as a faithful steward of the God in whom she trusted. Never did woman fulfill the marriage vow more faithfully. In sickness and in health, through good report and evil, she was ever his support and it would be difficult to find anywhere another woman, who in spite of adverse circumstances and conditions,
ill-health and infirmity, did such monumental work for God and man as Susannah Spurgeon. Her life was one long self-sacrifice. She need not have expended the strength she so much required for herself; no one would have blamed the invalid for seeking comfort in rest, but what she did, she did with a will and as “unto the Lord.” Her life is a brilliant example of what can be done by a weak woman who devotes herself to the service: of the Master and not only as the wife of Charles Haddon Spurgeon will Mrs. Spurgeon live green in the memory of all true Christians, but as herself, as the woman who found solace in suffering by ministering to the needs of others, she will stand out through all time.

The Wanderer Received

Perhaps there is no subject in the Bible that takes hold of me with as great force as this subject of the wandering child.  It enters deeply into my own life; it comes right home into our family. The first thing I remember was the death of my father. I remember nothing about the funeral, but his death has made a lasting impression upon me. After my mother’s subsequent sickness, my eldest brother to whom mother looked up to comfort her in her loneliness, and in her great affliction, became a wanderer; he left home. I need not tell you how that mother mourned for her boy, how she waited day by day and month by month for his return. I need not say how night after night she watched, and wept, and prayed. Many a time we were told to go to the post-office to see if a letter had not come from him, but we had to bring back the sorrowful words, “No letter yet, mother.” Many a time as I walked up to the house, I have heard my mother pray, “O God, bring back my boy.” Many a time did she lift her heart up to God in prayer for the boy. When the wintry gale would blow around the house, and the gale would rage without, her dear face would wear a terribly anxious look, and she would utter in piteous tones, “Oh, O God, preserve him!” We would sit around the fireside of an evening and ask her to tell us about our father, and she would talk for hours about him; but if the mention of my eldest brother should chance to come in, then all would be hushed; she never spoke of him but with tears. Many a time did she try to conceal them, but all was in vain, and when Thanksgiving Day came, a chair was set for him. Our friends and neighbors gave him up, but mother had faith that she would see him again. One day in the middle of summer, a stranger was seen approaching the house. He came up on the east piazza and looked upon my mother through the window. The man had a long beard, and when mother first saw him, she did not start or rise, but when she saw the great tears trickling down his cheeks, she cried, “It’s my boy, my dear, dear boy,” and sprang to the window. But there the boy stood, and said, “Mother, I will never cross the threshold until you say you forgive me.” Do you think he had to stay there long? No, no, her arms were soon around him, and she wept upon his shoulder as did the father of the prodigal son when he returned home. I heard of it when in a distant city, and what a thrill of joy shot through me! But what joy on earth can equal the joy in heaven when a wandering child comes home? The matchless parable of the Prodigal was recorded to show us the love and compassion of God who waits to receive into the relation of sonship every wandering soul.

The Fisherman

An investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow fin tuna. The banker complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.
The fisherman replied, “Only a little while.” The banker then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?
The fisherman said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.
The banker then asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
The fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a nap with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I play guitar and sing with my friends. I have a full and busy life.”
The banker scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and I could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to a big city where you will run your expanding enterprise.”
The fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”
To which the banker replied, “15-20 years.”
“But what then?”
The banker laughed and said that’s the best part.  “When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.”
“Millions...Then what?”
The banker said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a nap with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could play your guitar and sing with your friends.”