Archive for June 6th, 2015


“By whom we have received grace and apostleship,

     for obedience to the faith among all nations, for his name:

“Among whom are ye also the called of Jesus Christ:”

Rom 1.5-6

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“Lord, I thank You for letting me see the sights of New York,

& Lord, I thank You that I didn’t see anything I wanted.”

Bud Robinson “Uncle Buddy”

>> “New York” almost definitely means New York City – Bud did not love this world <<

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The King James Bible is the greatest Classic in the English.

It is read in, memorized from, & quoted by more people

than any other Book on earth.

Friend, let this crowd include You.

– eab, 6/6/15


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To hear God above the babel of commonality,

To refuse to accept what the world calls “reality,”

To worship God from first days, to life’s finality.

– eab, 6/6/07

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This is the date, 6/6/1882, George Matheson, wrote, “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go.” George was born 3/27/1842, eldest of 8 children to George & Jane Matheson in Glasgow, Scotland.  Born with poor eyesight he tried to compensate with strong glasses & would seek the seat with the best natural lighting in class. He studied at Glasgow Academy, completed his BA in 1861, & his Masters in philosophy the next year.

He pastored at Innellan, a resort town, (18 yrs) & later at St. Bernard’s Church in Edinburgh (13 yrs) because of a God-given ability to memorize his sermons (plus sections Scriptures).  He was invited to preach to Queen Victoria.  He spoke on, “The Patience of Job” & she like it well enough to asked that it be printed. As a young man he’d hoped to marry but the particular girl of which he dreamed refused because of his almost total blindness. Here are his words about his hymn:

“My hymn was composed in the manse of Innellan [Argyleshire, Scotland] on the evening of the 6th of June, 1882, when I was 40 years of age. I was alone in the manse at that time. It was the night of my sister’s marriage, and the rest of the family were staying overnight in Glasgow. Something happened to me, which was known only to myself, and which caused me the most severe mental suffering. The hymn was the fruit of that suffering. It was the quickest bit of work I ever did in my life. I had the impression of having it dictated to me by some inward voice rather than of working it out myself. I am quite sure that the whole work was completed in five minutes, and equally sure that it never received at my hands any retouching or correction. I have no natural gift of rhythm. All the other verses I have ever written are manufactured articles;

this came like a dayspring from on high.

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