what I might do with my life. I don't know how seriously he meant it.
Maybe he doesn't, either. I went off without answering him. There wasn't
any answer, except that I knew I wasn't fit even to think about it. And
then, thank God, I met a man who understood what was wrong with me. He's
our pastor. I haven't been anything but trouble to him at home, but that
made no difference to him. And he introduced me, down yonder by the
lake, to a Friend I had never known before, some one infinitely
understanding, infinitely forgiving. He showed me that before I could
find what I ought to be I'd have to come to terms with that Friend. And
I have. Whatever happens to me, whatever I may find to do, I want now
and here for the first time in my life to confess Jesus Christ as my
Saviour and Lord!"

The Bishop preached a great sermon, but it is doubtful whether the
Delafield delegation rightly appreciated it. They were too much
occupied with the incredible fact that Joe Carbrook had been converted,
and had openly confessed it.

More was to come. The afternoon meeting, long established in the
Institute world as the "Life Work Service," was in the hands of a few
leaders who knew both its power and peril. An invitation would be given
for all to declare their purpose who felt called to special Christian
work. The difficulty was to encourage the most timid of those who,
despite their timidity, felt sure of the inner voice, and yet prevent a
stampede among those who, without any depth of desire, were in love with
emotion, and would enjoy being conspicuous, if only for the brief moment
of the service.

For once a woman made the address--a wise woman, let it be said, who
made skillful and sure distinctions between the Christian life as a life