Nick was a strong, healthy railroad man. He got along well with his fellow workers and was consistently reliable on the job. However, he was a pessimist who Constantly feared the worst.

One summer day, the crews were told they could quit an hour early in honor of the foreman's birthday. When the other workmen left, Nick the notorious worrier, was accidentally locked in a refrigerated boxcar that was in the railroad yard for repairs.

He panicked. He shouted and banged until his voice went hoarse and his fists bloodied. His noises, if anyone heard them, were assumed to be coming from a nearby playground or from other trains backing in and out of the yard.

Nick reckoned the temperature in the car was zero degrees. "I can't get out of here," he thought. "I'll freeze to death." He found a cardboard box. Shivering uncontrollably, he scrawled a message to his wife and family. "So cold," he wrote, "body's getting numb. If I could just go to sleep. These may be my last words."

The next morning, the crew slid open the boxcar's heavy doors and found Nick's body. According to the autopsy, every physical sign indicated he had frozen to death. But the car's refrigeration unit wasn't working The temperature inside was about 61 degrees and there was plenty of fresh air. Nick's worst fear had become reality."1

As incredible as it may seem, what I have just told you is a true story.

I used to play golf with a friend who loved to break the concentration of those with whom he played. When he succeeded, it gave him a definite advantage. I remember one game when he did his little psych job on us. "Do you guys breathe in or breathe out during your backswings?" he asked innocently. We knew what he was doing, but we couldn't put the question out of our mind. We either ended up thinking about it, or deliberately trying not to think about it. No one had a good round that day -- except that friend.

The point of both stories is this: once the brain has locked on to an idea, escaping it is almost impossible. In other words, if you think about everything that can go wrong, it will overwhelm you. So, keep your eyes on the ball and your mind on the goal. It's a piece of advice that can be applied to any area of life. Don't talk yourself out of success or greatness. Far worse than letting someone else tell you that you can't do something is telling yourself that you can't. It's an insight that even applies to our church's building campaign -- Our Finest Hour, His Highest Glory.

My aim is to help you answer the question: How do I decide what I will give to help us build a new Sanctuary to the glory of God? As I see it, there are four steps involved in making that decision. I gave you the first step last week. It's want to. You've got to make up your mind that you want to give before you decide what to give. The second step is able to. After deciding that you want to give, you've got to determine that you are able to give. Don't be like Nick, the railroad worker, or the group of guys with whom I played golf. Don't let your mind lock on to the idea that you can't do anything -- or you don't have anything to give. If you do that, you'll talk yourself out of both a blessing and a wonderful opportunity to be a part of a miracle.