They don’t serve breakfast in hell.

On a train up to London last week, something happened that made me think about ‘hell’, for the first time in a while. A lady sat beside me, put her tea on the fold-down tray, and lost herself in her book. A jolt from the train made the drink slide down so that it was balancing rather precariously between the edge of the tray and her book. I saw this, and could see the possible impending danger that could result.
What should I do? I could ignore it, or I could warn her? But to warn her would risk me feeling foolish if she chose to ignore the warning, or think I was silly to make a fuss, or… Too late. Another jolt from the train and all hell broke out. Boiling hot tea all over the poor ladies’ legs. Missed me completely – but scalded her quite badly, I imagine. Next stop and she had to exit to return home, another day spoiled and a pair of jeans ruined and sore legs for a long time to come. Poor thing. I felt so sorry for her.
But I hadn’t done anything to prevent it.
I imagine, if she’d known I had foreseen the possible accident was about to happen she would have said ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something?’

Don’t know what you think of when you picture hell.
We don’t hear it preached about often now.
But a place where all trace of God has been removed just doesn’t bear thinking about really.
And whether it’s a stranger on a train, or a neighbour, friend, or dear family member, I think we should warn them, don’t you?

If we really caught even a tiny glimpse of Heaven, we would rejoice when we know someone has gone on there to be with Christ.
And if we really caught even a tiny glimpse of hell, we’d do all we can every day to save people from going there.

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