Once I heard a mountain preacher in Kentucky make an appeal that we be kind and generous to those around us now, because tomorrow may be too late. He described a farmer who had a loyal wife. They both worked long and hard, with the result that within a few years they prospered greatly. The husband took all the money they made and bought more land and more stock, year after year going through the ceaseless rounds of acquiring more fields to raise more corn, to feed more hogs, to make more money, to do the same thing again. Each year the faithful wife would ask for a new silk dress, only to be refused by the miserly husband who spent nothing on her, but everything on the stock and the farms. Finally, overworked and heartbroken, the faithful wife died prematurely and was laid to rest in the cemetery on the side of the hill.
The tragedy of what he had done came with such crushing force to the soul of the husband that something snapped in his reason. One day he was found wrapping yards and yards of the finest silks and satins around the headstone of his poor wife’s grave. “But,” said the mountain preacher, “it was too late.”
It is not tomorrow that the recording angel begins to write God’s book of remembrance. He is writing now. It is not tomorrow that we should begin the gracious, sweet, humble ministries that so richly bless the lives of others. Let us do them now.