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You have to read this! It's a great poem!
Hell Is Real~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I went into my classroomReady for another year at school.I didn't want the work,Just wanted to hang and be cool.I had on new clothes,New sneaks on my feet. I was there for class on time Went to the back and took my seat. Yeah, I'm moving up. I'm already grown. Soon I'll be graduating And out on my own. I talked to some of my friends. We were all having fun. Said some things I shouldn't have said, Did stuff I shouldn't have done. I knew I was different. I felt God touch my heart. I knew I should set a standard, But then I'd be set apart. Walking to the bus, I was not looking for strength. I heard the car tires screeching, But now it's too late. I'm standing in this room And I can see the heavenly gate. Oh no! I never prayed. I thought I had time to get it straight. An angel walked to me. He had a book in his hand. I knew it was the Book of Life. When would this dream end? I told him my name And he began to look. Then he looked at me sadly and said Your name is not in this book. Angel, this is a dream. No, I can't be dead! He closed the book and turned away. He whispered - You cannot proceed ahead. No...no this can't be real. Angel, you can't turn me away. Let me talk to God. Maybe He'll let me stay. He led me to the gate. Jesus came to me, He did not let me in but said, Beloved what is your need? Jesus, I cried, please Don't cast me away from you. Tears ran down His face as He said, You knew what you needed to do. Lord, please I'm young. I never thought I would die. I thought I'd have plenty of time. Death caught me by surprise. Lord, I went to church. Please Jesus, I believe. He said you would not accept me. My love you would not receive. Lord, there were too many hypocrites. They weren't being true. He took a step back and asked What does that have to do with you? Lord, my family claimed to be saved, They weren't real. You know. He said, I died for you. Now I have to go. I fell to my knees crying to Him. Lord, I planned to be real tomorrow. I couldn't, make Him understand. I had never -- felt such sorrow. Then it hit me hard, I said Lord, where will I go? He looked into my eyes and said, My child you already know. Pease Jesus, I begged The place is so hot. It seemed to trouble and grieve Him. He whispered, DEPART FROM ME, I KNOW YOU NOT. Lord, you're supposed to be love. How can you send me to damnation? He replied, With your mouth you said you loved me, But each day you rejected my salvation. With that in an instant, Day turned into night. I never knew such torture could be. Now too late, I know the Bible is right. If I can tell you anything, Hell has no age. It is a place of torture, Separated from God and full of rage. You know I thought it was funny -- a joke, But this one thing is true. If you never accept Jesus Christ HELL IS WAITING FOR YOU! So please ask Him into your heart, to be your Lord, Savior, and Friend.

GRACE!!!!
GRACE....The boy stood with back arched, head cocked back and hands clenched defiantly. "Go ahead, give it to me."The principal looked down at the young rebel. "How many times have you been here?"The child sneered rebelliously, "Apparently not enough."The principal gave the boy a strange look. "And you have been punished each time have you not?""Yeah, I been punished, if that's what you want to call it." He threw out his small chest, "Go ahead I can take whatever you dish out. I always have.""And no thought of your punishment enters your head the next time you decide to break the rules does it?""Nope, I do whatever I want to do. Ain't nothin' you people gonna do to stop me either." The principal looked over at the teacher who stood nearby. "What did he do this time?" "Fighting. He took little Tommy and shoved his face into the sandbox." The principal turned to look at the boy, "Why? What did little Tommy do to you?" "Nothin', I didn't like the way he was lookin at me, just like I don't like the way your lookin at me! And if I thought I could do it, I'd shove your face into something." The teacher stiffened and started to rise but a quick look from the principal stopped him. He contemplated the child for a moment and then quietly said, "Today my young student, is the day you learn about grace." "Grace? Isn't that what you old people do before you sit down to eat? I don't need none of your stinkin' grace." "Oh but you do." The principal studied the young mans face and whispered. "Oh yes, you truly do..." The boy continued to glare as the principal continued, "Grace, in its short definition is unmerited favor. You cannot earn it, it is a gift and is always freely given. It means that you will not be getting what you so richly deserve." The boy looked puzzled. "Your not gonna whup me? You just gonna let me walk?" The principal looked down at the unyielding child. "Yes, I am going to let you walk." The boy studied the face of the principal, "No punishment at all? Even though I socked Tommy and shoved his face into the sandbox?" "Oh, there has to be punishment. What you did was wrong and there are always consequences to our actions. There will be punishment. Grace is not an excuse for doing wrong." "I knew it," Sneered the boy as he held out his hands. "Lets get on with it." The principal nodded toward the teacher. "Bring me the belt." The teacher presented the belt to the principal. He carefully folded it in two and then handed it back to the teacher. He looked at the child and said. "I want you to count the blows." He slid out from behind his desk and walked over to stand directly in front of the young man. He gently reached out and folded the child's outstretched, expectant hands together and then turned to face the teacher with his own hands outstretched. One quiet word came forth from his mouth. "Begin." The belt whipped down on the outstretched hands of the principal. Crack! The young man jumped ten feet in the air. Shock registered across his face, "One" he whispered. Crack! "Two." His voice raised an octave. Crack! "Three..." He couldn't believe this. Crack! "Four." Big tears welled up in the eyes of the rebel. "OK stop! That's enough. Stop!" Crack! Came the belt down on the callused hands of the principal. Crack! The child flinched with each blow, tears beginning to stream down his face. Crack! Crack! "No please", the former rebel begged, "Stop, I did it, I'm the one who deserves it. Stop! Please. Stop..." Still the blows came, Crack! Crack! One after another. Finally it was over. The principal stood with sweat glistening across his forehead and beads trickling down his face. Slowly he knelt down. He studied the young man for a second and then his swollen hands reached out to cradle the face of the weeping child. "Grace..." God performed the ultimate sacrifice when he sent his son to die for our sins (defiance, rebellion and disobedience toward God). Just as above, He took on our punishment. So on Judgment Day, we can stand before His throne and be forgiven. This is true Grace.

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This is Great!
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art.They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war.He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift." The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?" There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one." But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? , ?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting.. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!" But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?" Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have , who will bid ?" "Give it to him for . Let's see the masters." " is the bid, won't someone bid ?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for !" A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!" The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over." "What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was no tallowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets every thing!" God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?" Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

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