The personal testimony of the conversion of Alfred Round.
Our English winter had really set in with a vengeance, leaving the streets of North Shields heaped with slush and ice. Well, what could one expect, after all it was the middle of January. Smoke curled from hundreds of chimneys. The skies were, as usual, overcast; but this in no way deterred the play of ragged urchins whose shouts and cries echoed through the narrow lanes. Weary workers hunched against the cold, hastened homeward with its promise of food and warmth. It was war time and it did not seem to have any effect on the kids, or, for that matter, on most of us – well not yet anyway.
Hostilities were just beginning to show ugly signs in the form of Nazi air-raids. Night after night they came in droves and unloaded their bays of destruction and death, and we helpless civilians tasted for the first time the awful horror of indiscriminate bombing. War at sea was also escalating as enemy submarines took heavy toll on men and ships. The British navy by the same token, was active, and inflicting heavy punishment on the oppressor. Likewise in the air, our Spitfires made a name for themselves and wrought untold havoc upon a ruthless foe.
Our ship, the S/S Kirkpool lay alongside Dunstan Coal Staithes, bunkered with coal and ready for sea. The crew had been placed on standby, but some of us still lingered in the local pub finishing off our beers. At last we tumbled out of our stuffy smoke-filled haunt into the crisp night air. It had a sobering effect. Laughing and shouting, we staggered up the gangway, and when all had made it on board, it was promptly heaved away. A voice from the bridge bellowed loud and clear, “Let go the main spring,” followed by, “let go fore and aft.” The lines gave a loud splash as they hit the murky waters. The sound gave a certain sense of severance from our mother land. The tugs then pulled us out into mid-stream.
There was a light-hearted squabble among the sailors, until we flipped a coin to determine which of us should take the first two hours at the helm. The lot fell to me. I considered it an honour anyway to take the ship out from our home port. Though the visibility was poor, I picked out familiar landmarks as we glided down the Tyne. Away to starboard, the groyne bell tolled out its sombre warning of rocks. On the port bow, situated high on rugged cliffs, loomed a towering statue of Admiral Lord Collingwood, its base flanked with four ancient cannons. These had once adorned the H.M.S. Sovereign (Collingwood’s ship). It was during the Battle of Trafalgar that Admiral Lord Nelson exclaimed with admiration: “See how yonder Collingwood handles his ship!”
Often as kids we had scrambled over these guns and fought our Trafalgars. All these places I took in, as if for the last time. Every point that jutted out, and every bay reminded me of the times when school was willingly wagged in favour of a whole long day exploring the rocky coastline.
A gruff voice (obviously a Geordie Pilot) jolted me back to the immediate present. “Ten degrees to port,” he called. The bow slowly responded and began to lift to the increasing swell. “Steady she goes,” he continued. The North and South piers slid past, thus closing the panorama of sights and memories, and leaving nothing but an empty waste of grey, cold sea. The pilot, his task over, shook hands with the captain, and wished us luck. I thought to myself, “We’ll need it too.” He then turned and scrambled with expert ease down the Jacob’s ladder, jumped into the waiting launch which broke away and headed in the direction of the distant shore.
Now we were on our own. Admiral Lord Collingwood was looking seaward, as ever, and he seemed to be saying; “Farewell S/S Kirkpool, keep the flag flying, and bon voyage.” The skipper gave a brisk command to alter course to North-east by East. Then he slammed the telegraph to full steam ahead. Answering bells came back loudly in reply. The vessel shuddered and began to forge ahead with a bone in her teeth. Our destination would be known as soon as the captain opened the sealed orders.
The days passed into weeks. After spending some time in a loch on the West Coast of Scotland, we joined a convoy of ships and headed down the West Coast of England. Thence from the North Atlantic into the South Atlantic.
The Cape Verde islands appeared and this is where the whole convoy took a smart turn to starboard and headed for North America. The Kirkpool kept going – how lonely it felt to see all those ships disappearing over the horizon – we were truly on our own. It was at this time that a German U Boat which had been waiting for a kill, miscalculated, and surfaced dead ahead of us. He crash dived as we pounded over where he had been minutes before. When darkness fell, the captain turned the ship about and retraced our path, this was in case the U Boat and some of his friends were waiting for us.
The new course was held throughout the night until dawn and then corrected to head for Cape Town. The manoeuvre must have been successful because we reached South Africa safely. The holds were laden with cargo and the hatches battened down. The Kirkpool was ready for sea. It was now 31st March and we slipped quietly out into the South Atlantic, our course set for South America. From thence we would proceed to England with the much needed food and material. Some of us lacked optimism about the chances of making it, knowing full well that this particular stretch of ocean was notorious for Nazi surface-raiders.
As the days passed it seemed that these fears were unfounded, for they were truly ‘halcyon days,’ as the poet would say. No-one could wish for a more beautiful style of life. The hours and days passed without incident, and everything went like clock-work as shipboard life usually does. We performed our watches and other duties, ate, slept, played cards. During the day we splashed around in our homemade swim pool. Tanned bodies lay spread-eagled on the hatch tops, soaking up the sun. The old gramophone, purchased from a second-hand shop for the magnificent sum of two shillings and sixpence, screeched out the latest hits of 1942. A favourite pastime of mine was peering over the bow to observe the incredible speed and antics of the dolphins. They criss-crossed our path again and again, to within inches of the slicing bow.
Someone changed the record, and the sweet voice of Vera Lynn filled the air with, ‘Yours till the stars lose their glory; Yours till the birds fail to sing,’ etc.
The record stuck, but the lazy roll of the ship soon corrected that. My, what wonderful, carefree, tropical days! The equator was crossed with the usual ducking ceremonies with King Neptune present. The Bosun played Neptune, but he did not need to dress up the way he did because he looked a natural father of the deep. Eventually we all ended up throwing each other into the pool, and I think we dared to toss in Neptune himself. I thought how different this is from sitting in sleezy and stuffy pubs trying to find answers in a glass which many lips had touched.
The record was changed again, and a favourite tenor voice carried over the ship singing: ‘Beyond the blue horizon.’ Indeed, this voyage was nothing less than a millionaire’s ocean cruise, and we joked with each other: “To think we are being paid for it!” Here we were, six thousand miles from England, a little speck on the bluest water I had ever beheld. It looked as if we would make it safely, for already we were half-way across, only another thousand miles or so to go. We even got to the stage where we sat around with our mugs of tea and talked about the River Plate and Montevideo and listened to those who had been there, and whilst this went on, plans were formulated. Actually, this discussion already had me there with the ship tied up to the wharf, and everything else. The British Merchant Navy had one role of importance, and that was to see we delivered the vital cargoes of food, etc., to our beleaguered land. The S/S Kirkpool was part of that vast life-line which stretched far over the seven seas. We knew our mission and were prepared for whatever should betake us – so we thought.
It was a very black night with neither moon nor stars to be seen. A stiff southerly with rising seas seemed to spell the end to our fantastic run of good weather.
The inside of the wheel-house was dark and quiet except for the usual creaks and groans of a ship labouring against the Atlantic swell.
Suddenly the Kirkpool heaved and shuddered violently from stem to stern as a torpedo blasted into number one hold. We were under attack from an enemy we could not even see. Heavy shelling followed, pounding the helpless steamer. Broadside after broadside was poured into her at point blank range causing untold havoc and confusion. Above the roar of gun-fire our captain could be heard shouting, “Abandon ship! Every man for himself.” On hearing this I scurried out of the apparent safety of the wheel-house and joined the mad rush for the life-boat deck. Another salvo thundered upon us, blasting the bridge which I, with others, had just left. It was burning fiercely out of control and lighting up the surrounding area. (The German Raider was the Thor, the same ship that a little later attacked the Nankin; editor.)
Now we could see the carnage which had been caused, also the deck strewn with wounded and dying comrades. Powerful search-lights came from nowhere and swept over the ship. I got caught in their glare and stood momentarily paralysed. They struck fear into me more than anything else, knowing that these ‘eyes’ of the enemy exposed us to further destruction. They were suddenly switched to our life-boats where some of our crew worked frantically to launch them. Another salvo burst upon us demolishing the stokehold ventilators and part of the funnel. The most sickening sight of all was to witness the blasting away of our only two life-boats; I leave it to the reader’s imagination concerning those brave men who in the face of such withering fire, sought to launch those boats.
Such a merciless and systematic onslaught could only mean one thing, that the enemy intended to wipe out the crew completely as well as the ship. It felt as if all hell had been loosed upon us. The whole of amidships was blazing; shattered steam pipes let out the deafening hiss of escaping steam.
The ‘gallant’ Nazi commander had executed his unseamanlike attack with such cold-bloodedness on a helpless tramp-steamer. Surely, he would now lay claim to the much coveted Iron Cross for such a ‘glorious’ victory for the Third Reich. This was my first close up glimpse of the real spirit of the enemy, and what I saw was the embodiment of evil.
During a lull in the action seventeen survivors, some seriously wounded, took shelter in the forad well-deck. The chief engineer took command as our captain was missing, presumed dead. What a sorry sight we presented, with one engineer wounded in the way of the right kidney (exposing his insides) and his right arm shattered at the elbow. The bosun with head wounds had just become conscious. An Indian clutched a broken arm. Also nearby two ratings lay dead. A radio officer had shrapnel in his lung, the galley boy was shell-shocked and almost out of his mind (we went to school together). To cap it all, twenty six of the crew were missing and believed drowned.
Several Indian firemen were standing in a group wailing and calling out Allah! Allah! They were giving themselves up to their fate and mourning at their own funeral. That particular scene is imprinted on my mind, perhaps as from that moment I began to prepare myself for death too. Kneeling down I said the only prayer I knew, and that was The Lord’s Prayer. I had always believed in the existence of God but had never lived my life before Him as it should have been lived and now at nineteen years of age, it looked like the end of the line as they say. The Amen said, I opened my eyes and was surprised to see that the men had made a semi-circle around me, including the Indians who had now ceased their dirge. They had all become involved in this private act of prayer and signified by their voluntary action that they too wanted to die the proper way, whichever way that was.
The awful tragedy was that no one seemed to know the proper way. None of us had taken the time to consider the all-important issues of life and death. We had been too busy living it up and living for self and for the moment. They stared at me for the answer – but I had none. The ship was just managing to keep her nose above the waves but an occasional roller came over. Those who know better, tell us that true prayer to God produces true results; well something happened here because without any explanation we all began as one man, to grab anything that would float; hatch-boards, a long ladder, anything. These we lashed together with the ample supply of rope from number two derricks.
What a splendid team we made as we grasped this last slim chance of survival offered to us by the one whom we had honoured and acknowledged only moments before.
Our attacker must have become impatient at the length of time the Kirpool was taking to sink, because they began to open fire again. That was the signal for us to take to our crude rafts, so along with our wounded we jumped into the sea and committed ourselves to God and the deep.
The prevailing cold current carried us away from the burning derelict and I felt safer until the night began to swallow us up and the fear of sharks took over. A couple of hatch-boards supported three of us, namely a wireless operator by the name of Paddy, who was nick-named the mad Irishman. Why he should be called that I don’t know, because one could not have met a more placid fellow. In spite of the shrapnel in his chest he never complained once but clung grimly to the boards.
Our other companion turned out to be an Indian fireman, the one with the broken arm. He too bore up well under the trying ordeal. The larger raft supported the other survivors and while they were close by we felt some sort of comfort, but unfortunately we drifted apart. On abandoning ship our galley boy had drowned, the badly wounded engineer had expired just a little while before and one Indian fireman had refused to leave with us; he was obviously shell shocked and kept calling out Allah. He clung tenaciously to the forad mast stay. The night dragged on with no sign of being picked up. A little red light began to bob up and down about fifty yards away; someone had managed to get their distress light to operate. It was a most puzzling feature of that night that most of us had lost our distress lights which were fitted in a special pocket of the life jacket. We discovered later that this particular distress light belonged to Sid, our chief steward; a generous little man who worked untiringly during the action, alleviating the suffering of the wounded and dying. Sid had passed this distress light to Mickey, one of the sailors, who clipped it to his tin helmet.
A strange sensation of drowsiness was slowly stealing over me and it was becoming difficult to keep awake. I could see members of my family at home sitting around the fireside. The experience was most vivid and stood out before me as on a cinema screen.
It was very cold and our teeth chattered non-stop. The occasional wave which doused us kept me from slipping off into the sleep of death. My world was diminishing fast and only the dark outline of oncoming waves held my attention hoping that it was a ship coming to pick us up. I felt peace within and the roar of the sea was but music to my ears. Every breaking wave glowed brightly with phosphorescence, spilling millions of tiny sparking diamonds in our path. This was a truly beautiful sight. What a difference between God’s handiwork and man’s evil inventions.
I heard voices coming from the other raft and they sounded full of excitement. The source of their excitement soon became apparent as a giant black mass loomed up ahead of us. A dazzling streak of light stabbed the darkness, creating a beautiful scene and illuminating the green watery waste around us.
Someone on the other raft shouted, “Look out, he’s going to machine gun us.” There was real terror in that voice and it entered into me. I lost my peace and struggled to take cover under the raft but the buoyancy of my lifejacket kept bobbing me to the surface. To our great relief the searchlight snapped off leaving us in utter darkness. Were they abandoning us?
Our fears were soon allayed. The whole of the port-side of the raider lit up and became alive with dark uniformed men. The decks hummed with life as they threw rope ladders over the side and prepared to receive us on board. New life had entered us all now as we surveyed the situation and anticipated the acrobatics which we would have to use if we were going to escape a watery grave. The rise and fall along side the ship must have been easily seven feet or more. As we drew closer there was a heavy dull thud. In a split second a deep silvery streak flashed beneath us. at an astounding speed. It was another torpedo. I looked in the direction of the Kirkpool which was still afloat and blazing. As I listened for the impact, instead, the blazing hulk vanished. Our home and last link with England had taken her last plunge.
The painful ordeal of that long climb was over as hands reached out and dragged me over the last hurdle. I collapsed but pride and anger made me struggle to my feet, refusing the Nazi hands to support me. One young marine then came up to me (he was about my age) and he appeared to be afraid of me; cautiously he took my left wrist between finger and thumb and led me off to the prison hold.
He never took his eyes off me and I saw some deep feeling of genuine sympathy in them, he was one of us, just like the tall lieutenant who the next day expressed veiled disgust at the unnecessary slaughter of defenceless seamen.
It was so easy to pick out the true Germans and the Nazi breed spawned by the ‘Little Corporal.’ One of them delighted in venting his hatred upon us by calling us English vine (swine) at every opportunity, whereupon we complained to our friendly lieutenant who promptly removed the Nazi to other duties and gave us another prison guard who was kindly disposed to us.
The access to our prison was down steel steps into the very bowels of this floating fortress; then a steel grill was dropped into place. At night the lights were kept burning, whilst another steel flap covered the grill. Everything was steel, steel deck, steel walls, steel deck-head, they just weren’t taking any chances. None of us grumbled or murmured after what we’d been through. It was during these long days of confinement that my desire grew to have a Bible.
I confided these thoughts to our second radio officer who began to display an interest in the Bible equal to mine. He said, “The Bible is a remarkable book and contains prophesies, some of which have been fulfilled.” My interest grew as he kept on about the amazing prophesies. I had considered seriously asking our friendly lieutenant, who used to come right into the dungeon, for a Bible.
His friendly greeting always commenced with, “Any complaints?” I was never able to pluck up the courage to ask for a Bible in the hearing of my ship-mates. Why anyone should be ashamed of the Bible, which is the word of God, I don’t really know, unless it is just as it says in the Bible that, “The heart of man is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked” (Jeremiah 17:9).
The radio officer was not a born again Christian but this was his own honest opinion concerning the Bible. Later I began to wonder just how could a person have such a very high opinion of the Bible and yet ignore and refuse its vital God-given message which is recorded in the gospel of John, chapter 3 and verse 16 which says: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. I might add that at this time I was no better than my friend for I too had not yet come to that place of appropriating God’s offer to mankind, that whosoever believeth on the Lord Jesus shall be saved.
One thing I was sure of and that was that the Bible would reveal to me the true nature of Him who had wrought so wonderfully for us even against such tremendous odds. He had delivered us from the deep. I acknowledged Him as our deliverer. I did not tell my shipmates in case they thought I was mad or in a state of shell-shock. Oh the awful pride of the human heart. We were prepared to call upon Him in the time of our trouble, but once we were delivered we very conveniently chose to forget Him.
I don’t recall any of us, including myself, suggesting that we kneel and give thanks to God for our great deliverance. I might add here that a goodly number of the crew had been rescued earlier in the night and the total number of survivors was thirty, sixteen having perished. Was there not room for thanks and praise to God for such a miracle as this. I wanted to know something about our mysterious deliverer and wondered if there were others of the same mind. Later I found that there were others much to my surprise and these were the most unlikely type to even acknowledge The Lord, but be assured, that before we came to the revelation that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, each of us had to be dealt with by the Holy Spirit. I wanted to know God better so that I could thank Him. Little did I realise that He wanted to do something for me through what He had done on Calvary’s cross.
Read on my good friend, the best is yet to come. What you are about to read could easily be the answer to your need whatever it is.
Each morning we were marched in single file up to the top deck. In that brief half hour we exercised our limbs and took in deep breaths of fresh air. How different to our former cruise. Armed guards were stationed everywhere. We secretly eyed the raider’s armament, especially the six inch guns nestling under huge cargo crates, which served as an effective camouflage. Our half hour of comparative freedom was up and the reluctant shuffle back to the dungeon commenced. On the twenty fourth day we were ordered to prepare for a mid-ocean transfer to another German supply ship. The name of this vessel was the M/V Regensburg. Little did I realise that the greatest discovery of my life would take place on this vessel which was fitted out to hold hundreds of prisoners.
The transfer was carried out with the use of giant rubber rafts towed by launches. The whole task was carried out without mishap to friend or foe. On boarding the Regensburg we were ordered to line up along the deck and then a cigar smoking German with a strong American accent began to lay down the law to us and stressed the rules and regulations. We were then ushered below decks only to behold scores of imprisoned seamen of various nationalities. They swarmed around and pressed us for news, “Were we winning the war?”, “Did it look like ending soon?”, “What ship were we off?”, “Which ship sunk us?”. They were starved for news and we soon brought them up to date.
The only draw back was that our news was at least two weeks old, nevertheless, it helped to slake their thirst for the time being. We were indeed a cosmopolitan crowd. There were Greeks, Indians, Maltese, Spaniards, South and West Africans, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders and from the British Isles there were the ‘Geordies,’ the Scottish, the Welsh and Cockneys, so one would require little imagination of what it was like when these boys got together.
Groups were getting together and plots were hatching on how to take over the ship from the Germans. It would have been cause for anxiety among the Germans if they had guessed at what was going on. One of the men had a banjo and I have yet to hear one play as this man played. We sang and sang to keep up our spirits. Some played cards, anything to while away the time for it sure was dragging.
It took a few days to get around everyone and to know just who was who. It was during this particular time that another big batch of prisoners arrived. Again there was a rush for news. The newcomers were off the captured Australian vessel S/S Nanking, bound from Australia to India with a cargo of wool and a goodly number of passengers, among whom were Christian missionaries. These vigilant servants of God wasted no time in arranging meetings and extending invitations to all and sundry.
Needless to say there was a good deal of mockery and opposition aimed at them. It was through one such mocker that I actually learned that there were missionaries in our midst. This particular fellow never had a smile and was always bemoaning his present predicament, but now as he came up to me he could not stop laughing. “Guess what we have on board?” (more laughter), “Missionaries,” he guffawed. I almost grabbed him as I demanded to know their whereabouts. It was his turn now to look surprised. He quit laughing and said, “They are on the port side having a meeting.” Without wasting another moment I raced off without another word and the thought running through my mind, “Where there are missionaries there will surely be Bibles.“
On reaching the port side I spotted several men seating themselves at a wooden bench and some of them were holding Bibles.
I stood for a moment to summon up courage. To me this was a very big step and I was tossing over in my mind the danger of getting involved with the group. One thing I was sure of and that was, they would not refuse my request. I almost crept to where they were and approached the nearest missionary to me. (I felt quite embarrassed and guilty in their presence). “Could you lend me a Bible please?” I whispered. The Canadian to whom I spoke was most cordial and friendly. He gave me a New Testament; and then invited me to sit down and join them. I did not want that but he won because he persisted and was so happy and friendly.
My fleeting thought was, “He seems to have what I’m looking for.” The Bible meeting commenced and I tried very hard to take in what was being said but it was eluding me. I did not think it would be as difficult as this to find God. A couple of days passed and the more I read the scriptures the more confused and guilty I became. There seemed to be an invisible barrier preventing any further quest by way of reasoning. On the third day while attending the morning meeting I had made up my mind to make it my last. It was a most uncomfortable experience just sitting through it.
It was a relief to hear the closing prayer and then each one got up in turn and left. Only one was left and I was hoping he would follow the others. He did not budge. Neither of us spoke but he looked at me and made me uneasy. I wanted to be left with my own thoughts and misery. The missionary’s face was most grave and he seemed to be reading my thoughts. He looked like an avenging angel. We stared at each other for a moment and then he broke the silence. Out of the blue he said, “Are you saved?”
The battle had commenced and I replied with a cocky smile, “I hope so.” There was a pause and it looked as if I’d won. He came back again with, “Hoping you’re saved is no good,” and another long pause followed. He waited patiently for a reply; I was beaten and speechless. He knew it too. The missionary spoke this time, “Do you want to be saved?”. Barely lifting my head, I replied with, “Yes, I do.” The first great step and hurdle to salvation had been taken. There was no turning back now. It was just like being under fire again, only this time it was in the hidden place of the soul. My pride and unbelief began to reel under the convicting power of the Holy Spirit. The servant of God continued with infinite patience showing me from the Bible God’s plan of salvation. He got me to read from Romans 3:23 which reads as follows: “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” On reading that verse of scripture I actually saw myself as an unclean thing before God and a hell-deserving rebellious sinner. The pages were then turned to Romans 6:23, “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
“Do you believe that?” he asked, “Yes, I do.” Then he turned to John 3:16 “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
The inevitable question followed, “Do you believe that?” “Yes,” I replied, with deep conviction. Whilst completely humbled before God, my friend guided and encouraged me to pray audibly and give thanks to The Lord for what He had done for me in going to the cross of Calvary. This also I found difficult until I got the first word past my lips: “Lord Jesus, I believe you died on the cross for my sins and I now take you as my Saviour. Amen.”
I looked up and opened my eyes. “Are you saved?”. The answer was a firm “Yes.”
A great burden had been lifted from me, things were different. My friend beamed and shared by new found joy. Soon I was surrounded by other believers in The Lord who warmly shook my hand and welcomed me into the way of the King of kings. Some said, “Praise the Lord!”
I believe that the ready acceptance of God’s great salvation was partly attributed to the realisation of the reality of Eternity as I drifted with helpless comrades in the blackness of the South Atlantic. The Holy Spirit had prepared the heart for the greatest message the world has ever heard, that God was in Christ reconciling the world unto Himself.
Confession of faith in The Lord Jesus Christ caused me to experience the joyful sense that I had definitely been accepted by my heavenly Father and that I was no longer under condemnation. Therefore knowing that I was accepted, the blessing of The Lord began to flow into my innermost being.
He is a wonderful Saviour! The Bible which was so difficult to understand before now became an open book. It came alive as under the tender guidance of the Holy Spirit my understanding was quickened. Day after day found me searching into the word of God. I also made a point of witnessing to my fellow-prisoners and sure enough they thought I had gone mad with shell-shock. But I was glad, not mad, and if this was the symptom of shell-shock, then I wished to remain shell-happy. None of my mates could get over the change which had been wrought in my life. The more I read the scriptures, Christ my Saviour became more real. It says in James 4:8, “Draw nigh to God and He will draw nigh to you.”
I wrote this testimony to my fellow-man, because I am debtor to all to make known to you that the way is still open for you to take up your cross and follow Christ and so enter the blessings this life affords and eternal life to follow.
Our German captors took us to Japan and turned us over to the Japanese who kept us in captivity for three years and three months, The treatment meted out by that nation to the prisoners of war I leave to the reader’s imagination, as many books have been written concerning the starvation and brutality imposed upon those who were unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches.
Under such circumstances I along with others found Christ to be our all in all. “There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother” (Proverbs. 18:24).
There were those of us who yielded to the Son of God during that time of fiery trial and there were those who heard and resisted the small still voice of the Lord God. The Bible warns, “My Spirit shall not always strive with man.” 1 Corinthians 1:18 says that, “The preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.”
It can be the power of God to you if you will only believe in Christ whom God has sent for your eternal salvation. May I invite you, friend as I was invited on the M/V “Regensburg”. Give up resisting and surrender yourself to the Lord Jesus Christ and you will surely see what great things He can do for you. Remember, God loves you. “Casting all your cares upon Him, for He careth for you” (1 Peter 5:7).