Paul Harvey tells how an Eskimo kills a wolf. He coats his knife blade with blood and lets it freeze. Then he adds another coat of blood and then another. As each coat freezes he adds another smear of blood until the blade is hidden deep within a substantial thickness of frozen blood.

Then he buries the knife-blade up-in the frozen tundra. The wolf catches the scent of fresh blood and begins to lick it. He licks it more and more feverishly until the blade is bare. Then he keeps on licking harder and harder. Because of the cold he never notices the pain of the blade on his tongue. His craving for the taste of blood is so great that he does not realize his thirst is being satisfied by his own blood. He licks the blade till he bleeds to death, swallowing his own life.

That is the way the devil works on us. He gives us a taste of sin, knowing we will crave more. We go deeper and deeper in satisfying our desires. We never notice the blade inside till it is too late. Only when we are dying do we realize we have swallowed our own life in sin.

In a recent “New York Times” article, Leonard Mlodinow told the charming story of a father, his son, and a ballgame at old Yankee Stadium. It took place on a July day in 1945, as soldiers were returning from World War II.

Some of the former men-in-arms coming home to the United States were men who had been professional baseball players. Although it is hard for us to imagine now, star athletes left their careers to be citizen-soldiers in those awful days. Such famous ballplayers as Ted Williams, Bob Feller, Warren Spahn, Stan Musial, Yogi Berra, and Phil Rizzuto answered their country’s call. And there was no more famous baseball player who donned the uniform than Joe DiMaggio.

On this particular day, “Joe D” — who had his record 56-game hitting streak in 1941 — was trying to be simply a fan at the game with his four-year-old son, Joe Jr., before rejoining his old team and playing for the pleasure of the crowds again. But someone seated nearby in the mezzanine recognized him.

Within a matter of minutes, the buzz had spread through the stands. Then a chant began. “Joe, Joe, Joe DiMaggio!” they repeated. In his typical style, a moved DiMaggio nodded to his admirers and looked down to see if his son had noticed the spontaneous acknowledgment that had more attention now than the game being played on the field.

Sure enough, the four-year-old Joe Jr. had noticed. “See, Daddy,” said the little DiMaggio, “everybody knows me!”

I call the story charming because it illustrates the way small children read the world. They are ego-centric and believe everything revolves around them. Who can fault them? They are children, immature, and understandably self-absorbed.

The same trait in adults, though, is anything but “charming.” Part of the business of growing up is to understand “It’s not about me” and to “Get over yourself!” The sad fact is that more and more of us seem to struggle these days with growing up and relinquishing the idea that it really is all about me.

It isn’t just the superstar athlete or entertainer with a fawning entourage. It’s a student who will not be disciplined or the employee who will not be accountable. It is the mate who will not be faithful and the self-indulgent individual who cannot deny the urge to drink or spend. For such people, nobody else really matters.

Childishness may be both tolerable and charming in four-year-olds, but it is utterly irresponsible for the rest of us. ————by Rubel Shelly

There are few things to which we need to train ourselves more diligently and conscientiously than to the habit of giving cheer and encouragement. To many people life is hard. It is full of struggles. It has more of shadow than of sunshine. Its duties are stern and severe. Its burdens press heavily. We know not how many of those whom we meet have been overcome in the struggle of today or of yesterday, and are cast down or almost in despair. We know not behind what smiling faces are sore hearts. We see not the secret sorrows that weigh like mountains upon many a gentle spirit. We do not understand with what difficulties the paths of many pilgrim feet are beset. There is not a heart without its bitterness. Work is hard. Burdens press heavily. Battles are fierce, and are often lost. Hopes fade like summer roses, leaving disappointment and dead ashes. The constant and invariable gravitation of human hearts is toward discouragement and depression. An honest watching of our own inner experiences for a week will verify all this, and our personal experience is but a reflection of what is going on all about us. A few lives may be more sunny than ours, while in most the shadows are deeper, the struggles hotter and the path steeper and harder. While, then, there is so much that is disheartening, it becomes our duty to watch for every opportunity to put a little bit of brightness or better cheer into the lives of those we meet. It would seem to be clear that we should never needlessly utter a discouraging word.–By J.R. Miller

“There existed no love but the love of Jesus equal to the work of salvation.

Love less divine, less strong, less gentle, could never have won your heart, uprooted your enmity, tore you from your idols; enthroning Christ, all of Christ, Christ only, Christ supremely, Christ forever!

Beloved, nothing shall take the love of Christ from you, or separate you from it. It does not ebb with the ebbing of your feelings; it does not chill with the chill of your affections; it does not change with the changing scenes and circumstances of your life.”

-Octavius Winslow

“There is no other solution to the marvellous mysteries of His Incarnation and Sacrificial Death but this: Christ has loved us.

There is not a circumstance of our Lord’s history which is not another form or manifestation of love.

His incarnation is love stooping.
His sympathy is love weeping.
His compassion is love supporting.
His grace is love acting.
His teaching is the voice of love.
His silence is the repose of love.
His patience is the restraint of love.
His obedience is the labor of love.
His suffering is the travail of love.
His cross is the altar of love.
His death is the burnt offering of love.
His resurrection is the triumph of love.
His ascension into heaven is the enthronement of love.
His sitting down at the right hand of God is the intercession of love.

Such is the deep, the vast, the boundless ocean of Christ’s love!”

-Octavius Winslow