Be Thankful
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One of the weekly duties of a young American girl in India 
was to visit a certain group of high - caste Hindu women - 
all younger than herself, mere girls, most of them, though 
already wives. She taught them the Life of Christ by telling 
them a new chapter in it each week, as they sat about their 
apartment, idly busy over their embroidery frames. She had 
come at last to the account of His death on the Cross, and 
was quietly relating the incidents of those six hours, when 
she caught the sound of sobbing - in the room, she thought. 
She paused, looked keenly about, saw nothing unusual, concluded 
the sound must have come in through the high lattice from the 
women's courtyard, and went on with her reading. Presently the 
sobs came again, unmistakably from a young girl whose back was 
almost turned toward the American girl. Quickly she knelt by her 
side, asking gently, "What is the trouble? Are you ill? In pain? 
What can I do to help you?" Through her raining tears the Hindu 
heathen girl answered, with sobs, "Oh, I cannot bear it - not 
another word! He suffered so - and you said it was for me! 
Oh, I cannot bear it - I love Him so!" Said the American girl 
when she told it afterward, "And I never knew till that minute 
how little I had loved my Saviour - I who had never shed a 
tear over His suffering for me."

Have you ever thanked Jesus for dying for you?

- Happy Hour