I once intercepted a stone mason who was building a wall where the specifications called for a window. He was not at all inclined to be convinced of his error. After reading the specifications again he said, "I am right." "But," I replied, "you are confused as to directions." Then he appealed to a weather vane on a near-by steeple. When I informed him that the church had been moved and that the points of the compass were entirely wrong, he pulled down the wall that he had so perfectly built. He did not ask what difference it made so long as he was doing a good piece of masonry. He was glad to get the wall down before the superintendent saw it. If, now, we go on the assumption that God has no plans in what He is building, then we must conclude that He is the most ridiculous person that ever went into the construction business. The shock of disillusionment when it comes, as it is bound to do, will be tremendous. It is one of my greatest sorrows that so many of my friends are building solid masonry in their lives where God's specifications call for windows; and windows where there should be solid masonry. The windows in the life of Jesus all looked out on the side of love and eternity. The light of a heavenly kingdom was always streaming into His soul. We make the same mistake in building our cities and social institutions. They but vaguely represent the human temple called for in God's specifications. And the farther we depart from the plan the more difficult it will be to return to it. Paul told some of the people of his day that they might escape with their lives as from a burning building, but that what they had built contrary to the divine pattern would be reduced to ashes. I once knew a merchant who had twenty acres of new land broken and planted with onion sets. A temporary house was built to care for a dozen or more workmen. The ground was pulverized to ashes, the onions were planted, and the weeds were kept down so that none ever appeared from the road. It was a fine piece of work. The men toiled, the onions grew and finally blossomed, and the field presented an attractive sight. But alas! the merchant had purchased winter-onion sets, and in all that field there was not one bulb to reward him for his pains. What difference did it make--he and his men surely did some good work? Many there are who flourish like that field during the days of their strength; but when they ripen there is no bulb, nothing to garner. One of these men with the meaning of life exhausted at sixty remarked to me that one was too old when he had passed forty.