"This is what I think of your tracts!" growled a passenger standing by the rail of an ocean liner. A Christian had offered him gospel literature which he accepted with a malicious scowl. Then with a flourish he tore the tract into tiny pieces, cradled them for a moment in his hand, and finally tossed them over the rail.
The Christian went away with a heavy heart, while the unbeliever headed for the ship's bar. As he lifted the intemperate glass to his lips, however, he noticed a small piece of paper hanging from his shirt. He pulled it off, inspected it, and discovered it was one piece of the discarded tract. Only one word appeared—"God." The man turned the paper over and was startled to read, "eternity." Those words pierced his soul. For hours he seemed to see them in letters of light—"God, eternity." Liquor would not chase them from his memory. He tried gambling and dancing and conversation, but whatever he did, and wherever he went, the solemn words, "God" and "eternity" haunted him. In desperation for relief he looked for the tract distributor who joyously led him into a redemptive relationship with God by which the sinner was brought into eternal life.