An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer contractor of his plans to leave the house building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife enjoying his extended family.

He would miss the paycheck, but he needed to retire. They could get by. The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor.  The carpenter said yes, but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career.

When the carpenter finished his work the employer came to inspect the house.  He handed the front-door key to the carpenter. ‘This is your house,’ he said, ‘my gift to you.’ The carpenter was shocked! What a shame!  If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently.

So it is with us.  We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than our best into the building. Then with a shock we realize we have to live in the house we have built.  If we could do it over, we’d do it much differently. But we cannot go back.  You are the carpenter.  Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. ‘Life is a do-it-yourself project,’ someone has said. Your attitudes and the choices you make today, build the ‘house’ you live in tomorrow.

Build wisely!

Edward Kimball was a Sunday School Teacher who went to visit one of his students.  He had the opportunity to lead that young man to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.  That young man was Dwight L. Moody.

Dwight L. Moody was holding a meeting in the late 1870′s at Lake Forest College.  After the service, Mr. Moody counseled a student who was struggling with the assurance of his salvation.  That young man later became a friend and co-worker of Dwight L. Moody.  That man was J. Wilbur Chapman.

Mr. Chapman later hired a young man to assist him in his ministry.  That man had come to know Christ in Chicago at the Pacific Garden Mission.  The man who worked for a brief time with Mr. Chapman was an ex ball player named Billy Sunday.

Billy Sunday held an Evangelistic Campaign in Charlotte North Carolina in 1924.  Out of those meeting came an evangelistic club (Billy Sunday Layman Evangelistic Club) that was later renamed the Charlotte Businessman’s club.  This group was instrumental in inviting a preacher named Mordecai Ham to hold evangelistic meetings in 1934.

In 1934, during the revival meeting that was held in Charlotte, North Caroline, a young man came forward and accepted Christ as his personal Savior.  Many of you know that young man – his name is Billy Graham.

All because a Sunday School teacher named Edward Kimball – called on a young man in his Sunday school class.

Once upon a time there lived a sea lion who had lost the sea.  He lived in a country known as the barren lands. High on a plateau, far from any coast, it
was a place so dry and dusty that it could only be called a desert. Of course, it must seem strange to you that such a beautiful creature should wind up in a desert at all. He was, mind you, a sea lion. But things like this do happen.

How the sea lion came to the barren lands, no one could remember. It all seemed so very long ago, in fact, it appeared as though he had always been there. But as you know, once you have lived so long in a certain spot, no matter how odd, you come to think of it as home.

There was a time, many years back, when the sea lion knew he was lost. In those days, he would stop every traveler he met to see if he might help
him find his way back to the sea.  But no one seemed to know the way. On he searched, but never finding. After years without success, the sea lion took refuge beneath a solitary tree beside a very small water hole. The tree provided refuge from the burning rays of the sun, which was very fierce in that place. And the water hole, though small and muddy, was wet, in its own way. Here he settled down and got on as best he could.

Had you journeyed in those days through the barren lands, you might have seen the sea lion for yourself. Quite often in the evening, he would go and sit upon his favorite rock, a very large boulder, which lifted him off
the burning sand and allowed him a view of the entire country.  There he would remain for hours into the night, silhouetted against the sky. And on the best nights, when the wind shifted to the east, a faint
smell of salt air would come to him on the breeze. Then he would close his eyes and imagine himself once more at the sea. When he lay himself down to sleep, he would dream of a vast, deep ocean. Twisting and turning, diving and twirling, he would swim and swim. When he woke, he thought he heard the sound of breakers.

The sea was calling to him.  The sea lion loved his rock, and he even loved waiting night after  night for the sea breezes that might come. Especially he loved the dreams those memories would stir. But as you well know, even the best of dreams cannot go on, and in the morning when the sea lion woke, he was still in the
barren lands. Sometimes he would close his eyes and try to fall back asleep hoping the dream would return, but it was gone.  Now the sea lion was not entirely alone in those parts. For it was there he met the tortoise. This tortoise was an ancient creature, so
weathered by his life in the barren lands that at first, the sea lion mistook him for a rock. He told the tortoise of his plight, hoping that this wise one might be able to help him. “Perhaps,” the tortoise mused, “this is the sea.” The sea lion swept his flippers once against his side; gliding to the end of the water hole and back,” I don’t know.” he said. “It isn’t very deep.” “Isn’t it?” Somehow, I thought the sea would be broader, deeper. At least, I hoped so.”

It was in May that the winds began to blow. The sea lion had grown used to wind, and at first he did not pay much heed at all. Years of desert life had taught him to turn his back in the direction from which the wind came
and cover his eyes with his flippers, so that the dust would not get in.  Eventually, the winds would always pass.  But not this time. Day and night it came, howling across the barren lands. There was nothing to stop its fury, nothing to even slow it down. For forty days and forty nights the wind blew. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The sea lion lifted himself to have a look around. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Every single leaf had been stripped from his tree. The branches that remained, with only a twig or two upon them, looked like an old scarecrow.
And I do not need to tell you that there was no longer any shade in which to hide. But worse than this, much worse indeed, was the sea lion saw next. The
water hole was completely dry.

Three weeks after the wind ceased to blow, the sea lion had a dream. Now, as I told you before, there were other nights in which he had dreamed
of the sea. But those were long ago and nearly forgotten. Even still, the ocean that filled his dreams this night was so beautiful and clear, so vast
and deep, it was as if he were seeing it for the very first time. The sunlight glittered on its surface, and as he divided, the waters all around  him shone like an emerald.  As he swam in the quiet deep, the waters turned to jade, cool and dark and mysterious. But he was never frightened, not at all. For I must tell you that in all his dreams of the sea, he had never before found himself in the company of other sea lions. That night there were many, round about him, diving and turning, spinning and twirling, they were playing.  He had never experienced the sea like this in all his dreams.

Oh, how he hated to wake from that wonderful dream. The tears running down his face were the first wet things he felt in three weeks. But he did  not pause even to wipe them away; he did not pause, in fact, for anything at all. He set his face to the east, and he began to walk as best a sea lion can.

“Where are you going?” asked the tortoise.
“I’m going to find the sea.”

At first, I saw God as my observer, my judge, keeping track of the things I did wrong,

so as to know whether I merited heaven or hell when I die.
He was out there sort of like a president.
I recognized his picture when I saw it, but I really didn’t know him.

And when I’m sure I just can’t do anymore,
He just smiles and says . . . . “Pedal.”