One morning I experienced a horrifying hour. I tried to remember how often between 1941 and 1988 I wept for a German or Japanese, a North Korean or North Vietnamese, a Sandinista or Cuban. I could not remember one. Then I wept, not for them, but for myself.
and most tragically: how many of these people died in their sin and woke up in hell?
how many of these people gave their lives for a fruitless revolution, an atheistic pseudo-utopia that would fix all of God’s “mistakes,” each dying without ever knowing the grace of the God they denied existed yet never stopped hating?
