Acts27: THE GREAT STORM CONTINUED

    (c) It may be a well-known saying.
    Corrie ten Boom remembered that after the family had shared a particularly rich experience her father would say, "The best is yet to be." Years later when Father entered the door of the prison, he said, "Remember Corrie, the best is yet to be." After 10 days Father's spirit stepped out of that prison and into paradise. The best had arrived.

    That little phrase, 'The best is yet to be,' was a sturdy timber that helped Mr ten Boom home to glory.

(2)They all escaped safe to land.v44.

The boat broke up and was lost but the crew were safe. It reminds me of how Charles Dickens describes the death of Jo the crossing sweeper in Bleak House: The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end.

As I sit here on a dull autumn day I remember some who got all broken to pieces but none the less escaped safe to land.

My father had a miserable, humiliating end. His mind disintegrated and he was a physical wreck but he came safe to land.

Karen, who attended our chapel, was taken early - to the lasting distress of her parents. Short of breath, pale of face with blue lips and cold hands, she fought for life but died young. But Karen came safe to land.

Len our organist was not the happiest of Christians. He had a tender conscience and worried much lest he should do wrong. Depression was his great enemy. For long periods he drifted in the dark. But Len came safe to land.

Last week I visited 94-year-old Dorothy. Her oldest sister died of consumption many years ago, aged only 14. Dorothy was 7 at the time and her other sister 10. Each day the two younger girls gathered round the bed of their sick sister to pray together. Dorothy said, "She wanted it." One day the 14-year-old said to her mother, "I'm going home tomorrow." The tearful mother replied, "But you are at home." "No," the daughter insisted, "I'm going home tomorrow." Next day she died .... and came safe to land.

            So when my latest breath
            Shall rend the veil in twain
            By death I shall escape from death
            And life eternal gain.

            Here in the body pent
            Absent from him I roam
            Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
            A day's march nearer home.

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