How many weekends left?

-
The average person dies at 70 years old.
If you are 20 years old, you have just 2,500 weekends left to live.
If you have turned 30, you have 2,000 weekends left until the day you die.
If you are 40 years old, you have only 1,500 weekends left.
If you are 50, then you have just 1,000 weekends.
If you are 60, you have a mere 500 weekends left until the day death comes to you.

It has been wisely stated that every one of us is unique . . . just like everyone else. In truth, each unique individual is uniquely predictable. Everyone has a fear of death. No one can deny that he naturally has a will to live. Therefore, it makes sense to face reality by remembering that each person has an appointment to keep.

You have ___ weekends left.

If there was one chance in a million that Jesus Christ 'has abolished death, and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel, you owe it to your good sense just to look into it.

Popular posts from this blog

The Island-Fish

-
Image
  “O ye passengers, whom may God preserve! come up quickly in to the ship, hasten to embark, and leave your merchandise, and flee with your lives, and save yourselves from destruction; for this apparent island, upon which ye are, is not really an island, but it is a great fish that hath become stationary in the midst of the sea, and the sand hath accumulated upon it, so that it hath become like an island, and trees have grown upon it since times of old; and when ye lighted the fire upon it, the fish felt the heat, and put itself in motion, and now it will descend with you into the sea, and ye will all be drowned: then seek for yourselves escape before destruction, and leave the merchandise.—The passengers, therefore, hearing the words of the master of the ship, hastened to go up into the vessel, leaving the merchandise, and their other goods, and their copper cooking-pots, and their fire-pots; and some reached the ship, and others reached it not. The island had moved, and descended...
Read more

“And so, about this tomb of mine . . . “

-
Image
  “VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity!  Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?  Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well—  She, men would have to be your mother once,  Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!  What’s done is done, and she is dead beside,  Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,  And as she died so must we die ourselves,  And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream.  Life, how and what is it?  As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,  Hours and long hours in the dead night,  I ask “Do I live, am I dead?”  Peace, peace seems all.  Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace;  And so, about this tomb of mine.  I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:  —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;  Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner  South He graced his carrion with,  God curse the same!  Yet still my niche is not so cramped...
Read more