Emphasis Preaching Journal

By the time I was eight or ten years old, my mother would send me to the nearby grocery store to get milk or bread or whatever. I'd hop on my bicycle, run the errand and be back in a hurry. "Happy to go, Mother, anytime!" One day I was slow in returning. The facts are, I kept a dime out of the change, rode to the ice cream shop (out of my way), slowly lapped at my ill-got cone and came home late with the bread and ten cents short. I told my mother a lie. It wasn't true that the grocery man kept ten cents more than he should, nor that Mother's timing was wrong.