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Put
the cookies on the lower shelf.
Move out of the safety zone. We can’t escape the traffic.
Satan would like to isolate the Christian who is a carrier
of the Christian disease.
The greatest favor we can do for any human being is to introduce
them to Jesus Christ.
Don’t wait until you are good enough to pass for Gabriel’s
twin before you witness.
It’s not a good idea to wear a sandwich board that says,
“I am a Christian.”
Are we unloading unsolicited goods?
After 2,000 years no one is going to think of a question that
will bring Christianity crashing.
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God doesn’t grade on a curve.
We don’t have to commit intellectual suicide or kiss
our brains goodbye to become Christians.
Belief doesn’t create truth but enables us to enter into
what is already true.
Unbelief doesn’t destroy truth.
Faith goes beyond reason, not against reason.
People might believe the facts about Christ but shrink from
the moral demands of belief.
It doesn’t matter what you think of Plato, Napoleon or
President Nixon. It does matter what you think about Jesus
Christ.
We can’t ooze into faith in Christ.
Faith demands action.
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The
will of God is not a package on a string let down from heaven.
It is like a scroll that unrolls one day at a time.
Fasten your spiritual seat belts or you’ll get carried
away.
God is not about to shortchange us in life.
Is our Bible knowledge stored like theological canned goods
on the shelves of our minds?
When the Christian life has grown cold, it’s like Pepsi
that’s lost its fizz. Or like cold mashed potatoes.
Separation from the world does not mean isolation.
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Mirth Straining to Break Forth
Paul loved the music of Haydn. Its gaiety suited his temperament—streams
of never-ending mirth impatiently straining to break forth. Haydn’s
words might well have been Paul’s:
I cannot help it. I give forth what is in
me. When I think of the Divine Being, my heart is so full of joy
that the notes fly off as from a spindle, and as I have a cheerful
heart, He will pardon me if I serve Him cheerfully.
Paul’s humor was always clean, side-splitting and topical.
He seemed to collect jokes without trying; they weren’t memorized
so much as absorbed, on hand at any moment to lighten any occasion.
Fast phrases sprinkled his conversations like commas; words flew
out of his zealous heart into the open air. This talent for wit
and metaphor carried over to his explanations of spiritual truth.
Many of his phrases grafted themselves into our era’s evangelical
patois, never to be forgotten.
Little Blue Baby
Paul’s grandfather was one of three brothers who migrated to
Philadelphia from Germany. Family legend has it that one brother
kept the German name Klein, one translated it into English as Small,
and the third brother—Paul’s progenitor—took the
name Little. Paul’s father, Robert J. Little, had a dramatic
conversion to Christ and made studying the Bible his life’s
work. He had a wide itinerant preaching ministry and eventually
became a radio pastor for the Moody Bible Institute.
Paul Eagelson Little entered the world as a blue baby on December
30, 1928. He was the second child of Robert and Margaret (sister
Grace was six years older). Paul had trouble breathing, and doctors
warned that he might have a hole the size of a fountain pen in the
septum of his heart. His parents despaired of his life; the doctors
doubted that he would survive into double digits.
Fortunately, Paul’s blueness disappeared and he grew into an
energetic boy. Physically he did have limitations, but neither they
nor his parents could restrain him. Robert and Margaret told him
not to play baseball or run in the playground or sit on cold steps!
But Paul’s love for sport could not be bridled or benched.
He would take his turn at bat as a friend waited to run the bases
for him. Sometimes he would run to first base on a hit, only to
be relieved by a teammate when he collapsed. Always he dried off
his sweaty clothes before returning home to avoid his parents’
questions.
A small storefront church in Philadelphia served as the humus in
which Paul’s spiritual life took root. The Plymouth Brethren
Assembly had no formal clergy, but the church’s elders taught
the Bible without ceasing. The Little family never missed a meeting;
Paul picked up a significant store of biblical knowledge simply
by osmosis. He frequently spoke of his awakening:
My friend Sam Kerr said to me, “Listen,
don’t you think it’s time you and I became Christians?”
Everybody but Sam thought I already was a Christian; Sam knew better.
“Yeah, good idea,” I told him. “Some time.”
Shortly after that we attended a children’s conference. The
speaker had an object lesson about bells. Most of the bells had
clappers, but one did not. He told us, “From the outside we
can’t tell which one is deficient.” Looking directly into
my soul (I thought) he said, “Some of you are like bells without
clappers. You look like a Christian, even do all the things Christians
do. From the outside no one can tell the difference. But you
know and God knows there is no clapper on your inside.”
I thought, Who told him about me? Everybody used to pat me
on the head and say, “My, what a fine boy you are.” I’d
groan inside and think, If they ever went through an entire week
with me, they would get their adenoids cleared! They would see a
different boy than who I am on Sunday. That day I made a commitment
to Jesus Christ that began my growth toward full-blown faith.
It soon became evident that Paul’s clapper was not missing.
He drove a bus for the church’s Kids Club. In high school he
was fully committed to the “Born Againers Club” and the
local Youth for Christ Saturday night rallies. When he turned eighteen
Paul entered the University of Pennsylvania Wharton School of Finance,
falling into an accounting major that he “disliked . . . less
than anything else.” As a freshman he silently followed an
InterVarsity staff worker door to door through the Penn dormitories
inviting students to dorm Bible studies. When his turn came, Paul
recalled in the opening of his first book, “I stubbed my toe
in the process of witnessing.” He ground out a prepared speech,
his eyes fixed beyond the student to a corner of the ceiling, and
the student slammed the door in his face. The staff member patiently
commended Paul for his memory but suggested, “Next time, look
the student in the eye, and speak directly to him.” Eager but
still terrified, Paul tried again . . . and again!
Gradually evangelism came easier to Paul. His InterVarsity chapter
grew substantially, and he threw his strength into every activity:
Bible studies, weekly gatherings, monthly area meetings and summer
retreats, not to mention a long-running Ping-Pong competition at
the Christian Association building. Near the end of Paul’s
senior year, he was approached by IV staffworker Joe Bayly. “Would
you be interested in working with InterVarsity? Could your heart
take it?
Paul told him, “I can’t imagine a pace more strenuous
than the last six months working in the dorms four nights a week.”
In June 1950 Paul graduated from the Wharton School of Finance,
but he did not attend commencement ceremonies. Instead he left for
the cool woods of northern Canada to be trained as InterVarsity
staff.
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