By Patricia Backora, author of the book
Tough Love in Christ's Millennium
Which you can order online from: http://www.publishamerica.com
A certain man refused to take any advice from his wife whatsoever, for he prided himself on wearing the pants in the family. He hated hearing her grouse about how big a sinner he was, and where he might end up. Late one afternoon they decided to go visit relatives who lived in a remote mountain village. Being a man’s man, he insisted on taking the scenic route along a deeply rutted dirt road. His wife insisted it was far safer to keep to the paved road. She got out the map. “See?” she pointed at it. “The road you want to take terminates at the edge of a deep gorge they haven’t built a bridge over yet. We’d only go over the cliff. I know you aren’t saved yet and aren’t in that big of a hurry to go to hell.”
“Listen you!” he scolded. “Stop nagging me about playing it safe, and quit preaching religion at me! Religion's for wimps! We don’t come up here very often, and I want to go my own way! I bet you ten dollars that since they wrote that map, that bridge got put up. After all, that’s an old map you’re reading.”
She looked incredulously at her skinflint husband. “Ten dollars? You’re on. That’ll buy me a new dress. If we drive up there and they haven’t built a bridge over that gorge, I win!"
“Okay,” he said, “we have a bet. Now if you’re too chicken to stay in the car with me, you can just get out and walk, but you won’t get the money.”
“No way,” said the imperfect Christian woman, overcome by covetousness. “It’s been ages since I got a new outfit. Let’s go then.”
To prove he was in charge, the man revved up the motor and bumped along the road as fast as he dared, singing as he went. A heavy fog descended, hampering their vision. The more the woman nagged her husband about the dangers of the pot-holed road, he more determined he was to stay on it. Progress was excruciatingly slow. Night fell, and they were still miles from their destination.
A sharp stone blew out a tire and the man had to stop and get out. He went to fix to the flat tire on the other side of the car, but didn’t make it all the way around the hood before his foot slipped on loose gravel. The unstable earth beneath him gave way, and he fell thousands of feet to his doom. The woman got out, upset. She yelled about how he’d been too stubborn to listen to sense, that he’d taken the money for her new dress down to hell with him, and what would she do now? It was then she noticed the End of Road sign overgrown with weeds, now even more invisible in the dark, foggy night.
The Bible might be an old road map, but it’s still the only safe one to help you navigate a world which has gotten more, not less hazardous, in the treacherous night of the Last Days.
I do not subscribe to the Private Messenger Service. I can be reached at: