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April 2021 Signs of the Times Newsletter! 


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April 2021 Signs of the Times Email Newsletter
FREE Book Offer at the End of the Newsletter

The Signs of the Times newsletter is a collection of stories and quotes from past issues of Signs and These Times.
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     I had pulled into the Gulf station to fill the gas tank and get some antifreeze when I noticed a policeman approaching my car. I knew he had been following me for several miles along the highway, but I also knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. Leaning down to see me in my little car would be no easy task for this tall one, so I got out.
     “Don’t know anything about you,” he said, “but I think I’ve seen you traveling around this area quite a bit by yourself. I wouldn’t advise it. Anything could happen along these lonely mountain roads, you know! Don’t you have anyone to travel with you?”
     “No.” I hesitated. “I live alone here in town and must drive the 12 miles out to the Turner Memorial School each day. I’m a teacher there. Besides, I’m doing God’s errands in teaching this church-sponsored school. God will take care of me.”
     The policeman shook his head and walked briskly back to his patrol car.
     In the middle of January the weather became impossible. Ice storm after ice storm hit us in the remote section of southwest Virginia’s mountains. After the ice, light snow would fall. School was closed, then opened, then closed again.
     One day I worked late in the windowless school office. When I came out about seven to go home, I found that another ice storm had come.
     I warmed up my car. Scraped the ice off the windshield. Offered a word of prayer for a safe trip home. And started on my way.
     As I pulled onto the highway, lights some distance behind me blinked. Everything was fine. The patrolman had signaled that he was following me again.
     Over an hour later I pulled into the little alley to my apartment as usual. The patrol car followed me in. With flashlight in hand, the officer searched my car. Then, “Where is he?”
     “Where is who?”
     “The man in the front seat of your car.”
     I laughed. “Oh, you probably saw my coat draped over the back of the seat. It could look like a person, I suppose.”
     “No! There was a man in this car.” He walked around the car and looked for footprints in the snow where “he” might have got out. None there. He scratched his head, and I heard him mutter, “Police don’t usually mix up coats and people!”
     He came back to the driver’s side. “I’m really sorry to have troubled you. But I surely don’t like your traveling by yourself.” Puzzled, he said he would watch more closely in the future and hope that I’d find somebody to ride with me.
     About two weeks later, the first of February, 1969, the same thing happened. Again with his flashlight, the policeman looked inside and around my car. I asked him if he had seen that “man” in my car again.
     “Yep. He is tall and broad-shouldered. As you were going around those bad turns on that icy road, I saw him put his hand out and take the steering wheel, guiding your car around those slippery curves!”
     Then I knew who the “man” was, for the Bible says “the angel of the Lord is on guard round those who fear him, and rescues them.” Psalm 34:7, NEB—By Rebecca Singer Maxwell, Signs of the Times, February 1975.

Quote: “The Word of God is solid; it will stand a thousand readings; and the man who has gone over it the most frequently and the most carefully is the surest of finding new wonders there.”—By James Hamilton, Signs of the Times, June 4, 1929.

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Don't miss the May 2021 issue of Signs of the Times: To order Signs, call: 1-800-765-6955 or CLICK HERE to order online.
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     About the most impressive celebration that ever took place in England was held in the summer of 1897. Travelers approaching the island by sea stared in wonder at great beacon fires blazing along the coast all the way from Ben Nevis to Land’s End.
     London never held a more colorful assemblage than it did in that year.
     The occasion for all this ceremony was known all over the world. Queen Victoria was celebrating the sixtieth year of her reign. From the far-flung corners of the British Empire thousands of important people had come to the British capital to honor her diamond jubilee.
     For so notable an anniversary, England’s poets were expected to outdo themselves. Alfred Austin, the poet laureate, honored the event with some special verses, but The London Times did not forget the most famous living English writer of that day. The editor wrote to Rudyard Kipling and asked if he could furnish a poem.
     However, when Mr. Kipling tried to fill the request, he found himself at a loss. Try as he might, he could not seem to strike the proper note. He wrote one set of verses after another, but he realized that all were failures.
     While he was still struggling to say the appropriate thing, the great jubilee “march past” was held. London streets were packed, and loyal British subjects thrilled to the sight of their little gray-haired queen, who, seated in the place of honor, watched for four hours while the hosts of empire moved by. It was so thrilling a spectacle that Britons remembered it for long afterward as the most magnificent showing they had ever seen of the great empire’s power.
     A day or so after the jubilee celebration, Kipling received a letter from The Times editor, asking how he was getting on with the poem.
     The famous writer was plainly “in a spot.” He realized he must deliver something without delay, so he sat down to one last effort. Before him were piled all his previous attempts. One after another he read them through, but his spirits were low, for none seemed to hold any promise. He was almost at the end when his mind was caught by a phrase—
     “Lest we forget—lest we forget!”
     Instantly he grasped that this was what he was after. Here was the keynote for the great jubilee. Thus at last came his inspiration.
     It was nearly three weeks after the tremendous celebration and review that the lines of “Recessional” appeared on the front page of The Times. It is hard to believe today, but when people first read Kipling’s solemn stanzas, they felt greatly let down. With that overpowering showing of Britain’s might, these verses sounded like an anticlimax:

     “Far-called, our navies melt away;
          On dune and headland sinks the fire:
     Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
          Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!”

     In their anger and disappointment some persons wrote in and complained to The Times. They wanted to know if that was all the jubilee review had meant to Mr. Kipling. The poet’s mail was swamped with protests.
     But then came a reaction. Gradually the public caught on to the poet’s purpose, and there came the recognition that Rudyard Kipling had written one of the noblest poems in the English language. It was something of which every loyal Briton might be proud, and not merely the British, but people all over the earth. In his country’s proudest hour, the author had dared to point out the Source of any nation’s greatness. When all the other poets had turned out ephemeral, vainglorious verses, he had made it plain how futile all a country’s massed might could be unless its people kept faith with the Almighty.—By Vincent Edwards, These Times, February, 1962.

Quote: “If we do not commend the gospel to people by our holy walk and conversation, then we shall not win them to Christ.”—By D. L. Moody, Signs of the Times, April 25, 1939.

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Order ONLINE or from your local Adventist Book Center--1-800-765-6955.
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     A number of years ago in Pasadena, California, a young boy began to get into trouble with the law. He had a strong grudge against society and was heading for real danger.
     A judge asked a young Methodist minister named Karl Downs to take personal responsibility in helping that boy to overcome his bitterness. The minister agreed, and spent a great deal of time with the boy.
     The result? The boy turned out to be a credit to society and to the sports world. You now know this boy as Jackie Robinson. And who is Karl Downs? Just another Lydia—one of the quiet people who move the world forward.—By William P. Barker, These Times, February 1960.

Quote: “Men are born with two eyes, but with one tongue, in order that they may see twice as much as they say.”—Unknown, Signs of the Times, September 4, 1917.

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Place this in your church bulletin or newsletter: Why not share Signs of the Times with a neighbor or relative? Sending a subscription is simple, inexpensive, and effective. Make a difference TODAY! Call: 1-800-765-6955 or go online at: https://adventistbookcenter.com/signs-of-the-times-magazine.html
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     A professor pulled out a large glass jar filled with fist-sized rocks. She then asked her class if the jar was full.
     “Yes,” They all responded. Then she brought out a pail of pea-sized chunks of gravel and shook them into the jar around the larger rocks. “Is the jar full now?” she asked again.
     “Probably not,” was the response. Then she brought out a container of sand and poured it into the jar. It filled all the cracks around the small and large rocks. “What about now?” she asked.
     “No!” they responded with certainty, “It’s still not full.” She smiled. “You are right,” she said as she brought out a pitcher of water and poured it into the jar. The water soaked down through the sand and around the rocks. She stepped back with a smile. “So what am I trying to teach you through this object lesson?”
     One student piped up, “You’re telling us that no matter how busy we are, we can always squeeze a bit more into our schedule.” Everyone laughed.
     But she shook her head. “Learn to put the big rocks in the jar first and then fit everything else around them! You have to set your priorities in life consciously; otherwise, the details of life―the sand and the gravel―will swallow up your time.”
     And so it is with our lives. Spiritually, physically, financially, and emotionally, we need to learn to prioritize and put the big rocks―the most important things in our lives―in the jar first, before they get crowded out by the mundane daily details of life.—By Melody Mason, From Daring to Ask for More Sharing Edition.

Order copies of this awesome booklet ONLINE!

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     A few years ago, Alabama was playing Rice Institute in the Cotton Bowl football game. Though the game was evenly matched most of the way, toward the end Alabama seemed to be getting the better of it. Right down on the goal line, when it seemed sure that Alabama would score, Alabama’s star player fumbled the ball and the Texas team recovered.
     The Alabama coach, knowing that the player was under considerable stress, pulled him out of the game and put him on the bench. The recovery of the fumble brought new life to the Texas team, and it marched relentlessly back up the field.
     The Alabama star, more nervous than ever on the bench, watched in horror as the Rice player broke around and into the open with only the goal line in front of him. The man on the bench could not contain himself. He threw off his blanket, raced out onto the field, and tackled the startled runner before he reached the goal line. Pandemonium broke loose in the stands. The player realized what he had done and took the longest walk of his life back to the sidelines.
     “Oh, let me die!” he cried in humiliation as he threw a blanket over his body and tried to crawl into the ground beneath it.
     He felt a tap on his shoulder. He pulled the blanket back and looked into the coach’s grinning face.
     “Son, I like your spirit,” said the coach. “Warm up and get back in the game.”—By Thomas LaMance, Signs of the Times, November 1973.

Quote: “Real faith in God lends a rosy, golden sunset to the darkest day.”—By T. H. Nelson, Signs of the Times, July 20, 1937.

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On Getting Old

     Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older, and someday will be old.
     Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.
     Release me from craving to try to straighten out everybody’s affairs.
     Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details—give me wings to get to the point.
     I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others’ pains. Help me to endure them with patience.
     But seal my lips on my own aches and pains—they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
     Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.
     Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint—some of them are so hard to live with—but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.
     Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all—but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.—Anonymous, Signs of the Times, January 1987.

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Compiled by Dale Galusha. Please pass this newsletter on to others.
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