I still have fond memories of Silas’s first solo visit with us out here in the country.  He was not quite four and stayed three nights alone, no mom and dad to get in the way and spoil the fun!  The first morning we had to assure him that walking outside barefoot was not a capital crime, but once his toes hit the cool green grass, he giggled delightedly.  “I like bare feet!” he instantly proclaimed, and took off running. 
            He was used to being inside all day, playing with his Matchbox cars, putting together puzzles, reading books, and watching his “shows,” educational though they might be.  Yet he found out there were a lot of fun things to do outside, especially when you have five acres to romp around in instead of a postage stamp-sized yard.  That’s all they give you in the city these days. 
            He and Granddad whacked the enemy weeds with green limb “swords.”  They pulled the garden cart up the rise to the carport and rode it down.  They dug roads in the sandy driveway and flew paper airplanes in the yard.  They played in the hose and threw mud balls at one another.  Every night this little guy went to bed far earlier than he usually did at home—it was that or pass out on the couch from exhaustion as we read Bible stories.
            My favorite memory is watching him as we walked Chloe every morning.  He begged for one of my walking sticks and I adjusted it to his height.  Then he ran on ahead, hopping and skipping along, holding granddad’s too-big red baseball cap on his head with one hand so it wouldn’t fall off, the walking stick dangling from the other upraised arm, singing and laughing as he went.  That picture of sheer joy will forever be etched in my memory.  He may have been too little to remember it himself, but someday I will tell him about it, someday when he needs a reminder of joy at a not so joyous time. 
            I remember that time nearly every morning when I walk Chloe, especially when we reach the back fence where Silas’s little feet suddenly took off on the straightaway and his laughter reached its peak.  And I wonder if God has anything etched in His memory, anything from that time in Eden when everything was perfect and his two children felt joy every day in their surroundings, in each other, and in Him.  Surely, the God who knows all has special memories of how it used to be.  Can you read the end of Revelation and not think so? 
            Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever, Revelation 22:1-5.
            Maybe God has recorded that so we, too, can be reminded not of what we have lost, but of what we have waiting for us.  Maybe He put it there for the times when life here is not so joyous, a picture of hope to carry us through.  It may not be etched in our memories—not yet—but the fact that He still remembers it and wants it, means someday we won’t have to count on etchings any longer.  Some day it will all be real once again.

Dene Ward
 

We just spent a week with the grandkids.  When it comes to food, they are just like mine were at that age.  They prefer their oranges out of a can, their macaroni and cheese out of the blue box, their chicken cut into processed squares, and their potatoes long and fried.  Forget the complex and strong flavors of Parmagiana Reggianno, feta, and bleu—they want American cheese, thank you.  And all their sauces must be sweet—about half corn syrup.  True, these two enjoy olives—but they need to be canned and black.  A strong, briny kalamata is summarily thrown across the table.
            Children have immature palates.  For the most part strong flavors are out and bland ones are in.  Sugar, salt and fat make up their favorite seasonings.  And it must be easy to eat.  When you can barely hold a spoon and get the food on it and into your mouth, you prefer things that are solid without being hard and which fit the hand.  We would never give a child a fresh artichoke to eat, with instructions like “Peel off the leaf, dip it into lemon juice and melted butter, put it between your teeth and pull it out of your mouth, scraping the good part off as you pull, then discard the leaf.” 
            One day they will understand the pleasure of different tastes and textures.  Their palates will become educated to appreciate different foods and even different cuisines.  Even the pickiest of childhood eaters usually learn as adults to eat new things, if for no other reason than to be polite or keep harmony in the home.  When a woman spends hours a day cooking, she wants more than a grunt and food being shoved around the plate in an attempt to disguise the fact that very little of it was eaten. 
            But sometimes people become set in their ways.  They decide they don’t like something, even if they have never tried it.  They won’t entertain the possibility that their palates have changed, and so won’t keep trying things as they become older.  When I was a child I hated every kind of cheese, raw onions, and anything that contained a cooked tomato.  Now I eat them all.  Imagine if I had never found that out.  No pizza!
            What about your spiritual nourishment?  Are you still slurping down canned oranges and packaged mac and cheese?  Do you still think instant mashed potatoes are as good as real ones, and Log Cabin as good as real maple syrup?  What if the Bible class teacher taught a book you had never studied before?  Would you learn with relish or complain because you actually had to read it instead of relying on your old canned knowledge?  What if he showed you a different interpretation of a passage than you usually hear?  Would you chew on it a little and really consider it, or just dismiss it out of hand because it wasn’t what you already thought you knew?
            Keith and I have both experienced complaints from people because our classes were “too deep” or “too hard” or “took too much study time.”  Really?  It’s one thing to have an immature palate because you are still a babe.  It’s another to have one because you haven’t grown up in twenty, thirty, forty years of claiming discipleship. 
            The spiritual palate can tell tales on our spiritual maturity in every other area.  Jesus expected his disciples to mature in just a few short years.  “Have I been with you so long and you still do not know me?” he asked Philip (John 14:9).  If we don’t know his word, we don’t know him.  If we don’t know him, we have no clue how to behave as Christians.
            An educated palate for spiritual food is far more important than whether you have learned to like liver yet.  Become an adventurous spiritual eater.  You will find this paradox: though you become hungrier for more, you are always satisfied with your meal.
 
For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil. Hebrews 5:12-14.
 
Dene Ward

Perhaps you remember Abraham's servant, the one he sent to Haran to find Isaac a wife.  First, let's realize that though we might automatically assume this is the Eleazar of Genesis 15, it is now so many years later that Eleazar would have been about 100.  Sending him on a trip hundreds of miles long that would possibly take over a month, might not have been realistic.  The Hebrew term we translate "oldest [servant] in his house who ruled over all he had," might be better translated, "Senior Administrator" (Gen 24:1)  I am certain that Abraham gave his elderly servants who had spent their lives serving him a retirement of sorts, lowering the task difficulty and the number of hours of real labor accordingly.  So we really do not know who this servant is. 
            However, whoever he is, he has learned about God from his master.  So when he arrives in Haran he asks God to be with him and give him this sign:  that the maiden who not only offers him a drink but also offers to water his camels, is the one he is meant to find (24:12-14).  And almost immediately it seems, Rebekah arrives on the scene.  She performs exactly as the servant had prayed. 
            Let's talk a minute about that task.  It was not uncommon for women and even older children to be charged with retrieving the water for the household.  I am sure we have all seen those jars they carry on their heads.  I am not sure how much those jars weighed, but I am told that a gallon of water weighs 8.33 pounds.  If the jar held five gallons, or the ancient equivalent, it would have weighed 41.67 pounds plus the weight of the jar.  That's quite a load.
            Now let's consider the camels.  The servant did not have just a couple of camels—he had ten (24:10).   I am told that a thirsty camel will drink 25 gallons of water.  Multiply that by 10 and then divide by the number of gallons in the jar, of which we are uncertain, but the more it held the better as far as having to draw up the water.  If it held 5 gallons, Rebekah would have had to draw water up from the well 50 times.  If the jar were smaller, we could be approaching 100.
            Rebekah was a teenager, probably 14-15.  Girls in ancient times were considered marriageable as soon as they reached puberty.  Some want to say that they reached puberty far later than our girls do today because they were not well-nourished.  Seems to me we are not talking about peasants here, but wealthy, or at least comfortable, families.  No malnourishment to worry about.  John MacArthur says that by the first century most all girls reached puberty by 13 based on social and marriage customs of the time.  Another thing we need to come to grips with as we study Genesis:  teenage girls sometimes married 40 year old men, or sometimes even older.
            Rebekah, and all teenagers in the Bible for that matter, did hard and heavy jobs that benefited the running of the entire family.  That doesn't mean their parents were abusers.  The children were raised to be responsible enough and strong enough to do it.  What about our children?  Are they raised thinking that they should be waited on hand and foot?  Do they have any idea what it takes to make a household run?  Do we tell them how important what they do is for us?  Have they ever come in tired and worn out because of actual work they have done?  No wonder employers nowadays have such a difficult time finding people who know how to work and have the will to do it.  A friend of mine actually told her children, "If you don't get the day's chores done, you don't get supper," based on 2 Thes 3:10.  Evidently, it worked, but only because she actually carried it out.
            Teaching your children to work, and to work hard, is a life skill they simply must have in order to be successful, both in this life and our spiritual lives.  We are not being good parents when we shirk that duty.
 
The one who is lazy becomes poor, but the one who works diligently becomes wealthy. The one who gathers crops in the summer is a wise son, but the one who sleeps during harvest is a shameful son Prov 10:4,5.
 
Dene Ward
 

Along time ago we lived near a man who raised a little livestock.  He had a sow down the fence line from us, and one summer morning we woke to find piglets rooting their way through our yard, trying to find mama. Mama was too big to get under the pen, but the babies weren’t.  After that we kept tabs on those piglets, and the boys, who were about 6 and 4, loved going to see them.  Baby animals, as a general rule, are cute—even pigs.
            One evening I stuck my head out the door and hollered extra loudly, “Dinner!” because I knew that’s where they were.  Keith said they started back immediately, Nathan on his shoulders, and Lucas walking along side.  About halfway back he swapped boys, and told Nathan to run on ahead and wash his hands. As he watched, Nathan ran along the sandy path toward our driveway, then veered to the left instead of to the right toward the house.  Immediately his father yelled, ‘What did I tell you to do?!” and Nathan instantly changed his direction and ran for the house without even a backward look.
            As he approached the deep shade of the drive himself, Keith felt an inch tall.  Nathan’s tricycle was off to the left, parked in the hedgerow by our chicken pen.  That’s what he had been headed for because his father had taught him to always put up his tricycle.
            He put Lucas down on the ground and sent him on into the house as he went for the tricycle himself, to put it up for his younger son, who had only been trying to obey his father in all things.  Just as he got there, a gray-green cottonmouth as thick as a bike tire tube charged from the bushes.  Keith was able to grab a shovel in time and kill it. 
            Imagine if he had been a four year old.  Would he have seen the snake in time?  Would he have even known to be on the look out as one should here in the north Florida piney woods?  Cottonmouths are not shy—not only will they charge, they will change direction and come after you.  A snake that size could easily have struck above Nathan’s waist, and at only forty pounds he was probably dead on his feet.
            Now let me ask you this—does your child obey you instantly?  Or do you have to argue, threaten, bribe, or cajole him into doing what you tell him to do?  Do you think it doesn’t matter?  The world is filled with dangerous things, even if you don’t live where I do—traffic, electricity, deep water, high drop offs—predators.  If you don’t teach him instant obedience, you could be responsible for his injury or death some day--you, because you didn’t teach him to obey.  Because you thought it wasn’t that important.  Because you thought it would make him hate you.  Because you thought it made you sound mean.  Or dozens of other excuses.
            We put our boys in child car seats before it was required by law.  We actually had other people ask us, “How do you get him to sit in the seat?”  Excuse me? Isn’t it funny that when the law started requiring it, those parents figured it out?  Not getting in trouble with the law was evidently more important to them than the welfare of their children.
            The hedgerows don’t go away when your child grows up.  In fact, they become even more dangerous if you haven’t taught him as you should have.  Isn’t it sad when the elders of the church have to nag people to get them to do one simple thing for the betterment of the church or the visitors whose souls they are supposed to care about, like sitting somewhere besides the two back pews?  Those are probably the same people who as children had to be begged to obey their parents. 
            Do you want to know what someone was like as a child?  I can show you the ones who threw tantrums; they’re the ones who threaten to leave if things aren’t done their way.  I can point out the ones who wouldn’t share their toys; they won’t give up anything now either, especially not their “rights.”  The snake in the hedgerow has bitten them, and this time it poisoned their souls, not their bodies.
            Look around you Sunday morning.  Decide which of those adults you want your children to be like when they grow up.  It doesn’t happen automatically.  It happens when loving parents work hard, sometimes enduring a whole lot of unpleasantness and even criticism, to mold their children into disciples of the Lord.
            Danger hides in the hedgerows.  Make sure your child’s soul stays safe.
 
Now Adonijah [David’s son and] the son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, "I will be king." And he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him. His father had never at any time displeased him by asking, "Why have you done thus and so?" 1 Kings 1:5-6.

On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. And I declare to him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them, 1 Samuel 3:12-13.
 
Dene Ward
 

I hardly ever go to the mall.  Because our finances have always been tight, I only shop for things when I need them, otherwise it seems to me an exercise in futility.  I can’t afford to get “tired” of something.  If it works, we use it.  If it hasn’t fallen apart yet, we wear it.  Yet sometimes I have to make that trip, usually once a year, twice at the most.  The first time I made it with a toddler and a babe in arms was almost disastrous. 
            Both my boys were obedient little boys.  Not that they came that way—it took a lot of effort and consistent training because they both had Ward blood in them, but eventually I never had to worry about taking them anywhere.  Two year old Lucas followed along as I traipsed from store to store looking for—well, I don’t even remember now.  I had Nathan in one arm, a diaper bag in the other, and my purse over one shoulder, so there was no hand to hold on to Lucas.  He was usually right by my side, and if he suddenly disappeared, I looked back and he had just lagged a bit as we went by a particularly eye-catching display.
            Then, just as we left one of the anchor stores on the far side of the mall, and stepped into the open area, I looked down and he wasn’t there, nor anywhere close.  My heart plummeted, my stomach heaved, and my mind screamed his name before I could even get it out of my mouth.  I ran back into that store, and there ten feet inside, he was standing by a display.  What had caught his interest I don’t know--I doubt I ever knew.  I called his name and he looked at me and smiled and came running.  Me?  I knelt on the floor and somehow with a squirmy four month old and a diaper bag and a purse, I managed to wrap him up in my arms and hug him so tightly that he started to pull away.
            “You need to be careful to stay with Mommy, okay?” I managed with a slight catch in my throat, and he nodded happily.  On we went to do the necessary shopping, but my eye was on him far better than it had been before.
            I doubt very many of you have not had something similar happen to you.  It is, perhaps, the worst feeling in the world to think your child might be lost.
            It amazes me when people do not have that same horrible feeling when their child’s soul is lost.  How can you not run around calling his name and asking people for help?  How can you not agonize about it?  I want to share with you two wonderful examples should you ever need them—which I pray neither you nor I ever do. 
            We have spoken with the lost child of a close friend more than once, offered to study the Bible, and just conversed about life in general at other times.  She appreciates everything we try to do for her child, whether it works or not.  She has even told her child, when that child was mildly disgruntled about one conversation, “Isn’t it wonderful that they care so much?” which effectively put that problem to rest. 
            I keep in contact with the child of another friend.  That child is not amenable to spiritual discussions these days, but he knows I will say something every time anyway, and probably because of his good parents, he accepts my overtures in a friendly way, tolerant when I leave him with a statement like, “You know what you need to do.”  She has told me she doesn’t care what I say to her child, “Just please keep saying something.”
            Neither one of these parents allow their children to complain in their presence about the ways we approach them.  Neither one of them blames us nor anyone else for the decisions their adult children have made, and their children know that too.  I carry great hopes for both of those children, and for those grieving parents.  I feel like their lost children will indeed be “found” some day, partly because of the attitude their parents have managed to keep throughout the whole ordeal. 
            If you have a lost child, follow their example.  As long as you allow that child to blame someone besides himself, he will never see the need for repentance.  As long as you allow her to make excuses, whether justified or not, she will think everyone else is at fault, not her. 
            When I lost Lucas for those few minutes, I didn’t care who helped find him, or what I looked or sounded like as I went running and hollering back into that store.  I just wanted my baby safe and sound.  Can you imagine someone saying, “No!  I don’t want you to look for my child?” 
            Your child may be standing right in front of you, but if his soul is lost, he might as well be a helpless toddler lost at the mall.  Do what you need to do, and accept the help of others without hamstringing them. I lost my little boy once.  I don’t want to ever go through that again, but if I do, rest assured, I will be calling you for help to find him, and I won’t care a bit how you go about it.
 
But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to celebrate, Luke 15:22-24.
 
Dene Ward

It's been eleven years, which I can hardly believe.  Silas came to visit all by himself.  Granddad had carefully planned the play time, and on the first afternoon, as the thermometer hit 95, and the sun beat down mercilessly, he grabbed the garden hose and I knew immediately what was up.
            Keith was always a hands-on Dad, more hands on than the boys wanted in some cases, but also in the fun times.  He played with them from the time they were born, carefully moderating his strength when they were small, but never moderating the little boy inside that never quite left him.  One of my favorite pictures came when he knocked on the door one rainy day, and there the three of them stood, streaked with mud, having played in the soft warm rain throwing mud balls until you could only tell which was which by their relative size.
            So now it was four year old Silas’s turn, his baptism by mud, so to speak, as Keith filled up the low spot in front of the sour orange and the herb bed, dammed by a berm so the water would back up and have time to soak into the ground before rushing on down the hill to the run just off the east side of the property.  As soon as the spot was a couple inches deep, Keith called him in to splash around.  Even that took awhile, but finally Silas waded in and started jumping up and down, squealing with delight as the water splashed up around him, and especially when it splashed on Granddad.
            Then came the magic moment.  Keith reached down into the black mud, scraped up a handful, and flung it carefully onto Silas’s back.  Talk about indignant!  He scrambled up the slope to the carport where I sat in the breeze of a fan, drinking iced tea and watching the fun.  “Granddad threw mud on me,” he complained as he spun in a circle trying to see the damage behind him.
            “So throw some on him!”  I said encouragingly.
            He was aghast.  “But it’s dirty,” he argued.
            “That’s the fun,” I told him, and he slowly walked back to the puddle, glancing over his shoulder at me with a skeptical look.
            Granddad met him with another handful of mud, this time on the chest.  “Arghh!” he protested and scrambled away, but this time not to me.  I was obviously not on his side in this one.
            “Here,” Keith said, and stood, chest bare and arms out wide.  “Throw some on me.”
            Once again, Silas yelled, “No,” but it wasn’t long till he finally picked up a handful of mud on his own.  Keith stood there with a grin, waiting as Silas walked up to him.  But the little guy couldn’t stand it.  Just as he got within a four-year-old’s throwing range, he turned and threw the mud into the puddle instead.  Immediately, Keith picked up a handful and threw it on him.  Silas ran around in circles, but never left the area this time.  In a flash he had another fistful, but once again threw it in the puddle. 
            Finally, Keith sat down in the mud.  “See?  I’m already muddy now.  It’s okay to throw it on me.”
            It still took another five minutes, but finally Silas got into the spirit of the thing and threw a generous handful at Keith.   I am not sure how much reached skin, but he was as thrilled as if he had dumped a bucketful on him.
            For the next thirty minutes the mud was flying.  They both wound up with mud caked on their shorts, dripping from clumps on their shoulders, bellies, backs, and even their heads.  I doubt Silas had ever been that dirty in his entire life, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
            I could do a lot with this one.  I could talk about hands-on fathering.  I could talk about shucking your dignity so you can play with your child, about shedding that authoritative image so he will know you love him enough not just to correct him, but to enjoy being with him--on his level, not yours.  That’s easy, so I will let you take care of those.
            How about this?  Did you notice how hard it was for Silas to actually start throwing the mud?  Even though he was assured it was all right, even though he was encouraged to have fun that normally was not allowed, it still took a long time for him to give in, but give in he did.  Why do we think we can hold up against far more powerful forces than that when we place our souls in harm’s way?
            The world will tell you it’s all right.  The world will tell you it’s fun.  The world will say, “Look at me.  See?  I’m doing just fine, and so will you.”  If you think you won’t give in, you probably have an inflated opinion of your spiritual strength.  The truly strong person would have never been there to begin with.
            So take it from a little boy who had the time of his life in a mud fight.  You will give in too, only your fight will end up with a dirt that can’t be washed away with a hose, and you may enjoy it too much to ever leave the mud puddle behind.
 
You therefore, beloved, knowing this beforehand, take care that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability. But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen, 2 Peter 3:17-18.
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Joanne Beckley.

There are no original thoughts in the following bits of wisdom that I accumulated through the years. Yes, you may even have been one of the wise ones from whom I listened and learned!

Specifically for Mom
Tit 2:3-5 Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, . . . teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.

1. When you are tired or angry, shut your mouth. Everything is colored and wisdom is not present.
2. Listen! Whether it is wise counsel from husband, friends or, yes, even your child.
3. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Life does not revolve around your desired special bed of roses.
4. Go to bed with a tomorrow list in hand. Tomorrow will have purpose and your smile will be present.
5. Awake with a Bible reading, song and prayer. Ideally, your entire family will join in, led by your husband. And don’t forget to make time for personal Bible study and meditation. “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ” 2 Pet 3:18.
6. People often think the worst first. Forgive them.
7. “I’m sorry” should not be hidden treasure.
8. Everyone benefits from a cheery greeting. And don’t be surprised when suddenly your ear needs bending.
9. Husbands come first, then children. In time and priority, always. BTW, your husband is NOT one of your children.
Eph 5:24 But as the church is subject to Christ, so also the wives [ought to be] to their husbands in everything. 25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her.
10. Someday is Today. Set goals and aim toward them. Life goals, 40 years, 20 years, 10 years, 5 years, 1 year, 1 month, and one day at a time. What you do today should be toward your 1 month goals. Life is precious. Don’t live with regrets.
11. Bears are not allowed at our house. Recognize what makes you growl and either fix it or adapt.
 
Training Children
Mt 19:19 HONOR YOUR FATHER AND MOTHER; and YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF."
1. The Bible is your training manual. Use it! Www.childtrainingbible.com
2. Kids are manipulators par excellence. Stand your ground.
3. Begin as you mean to go on. Train for the future. Don’t change the rules. Modesty, obedience, respect, etc. Remember, God sets the standards.
4. Service is first learned at home. How you serve is what they learn.
5. Training is two-fold: affection and discipline. Both must be present and wisely distributed at all times.
6. “If a man will not work, neither will he eat.” Teach your children to work, and work with pride of accomplishment. If an attitude problem is present, remove the food.
7. Require respect toward ALL adults.
8. Children grieve. Help them.
9. Discipline problems at school will be noted at home.
10. When all is well, get ready for another surprise. Kids have a knack of tossing yet another challenge into the ring and you will be scrabbling yet again to find the answers.
11. When you are at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang tight. Set the children down - separate chairs, separate areas, and tell the children you need to go pray. And then go!
12. There is nothing wrong with your very young children sleeping in tomorrow’s clothes. Bathe the children, dress them in t-shirt and shorts/jeans. Tomorrow’s day begins without hassle.
13. Consistency, thou art a jewel. Say what you mean and mean what you say.
14. Clean the high-chair before you leave the kitchen.
15. Teach daily from God’s Word. Teaching character is critical in your child’s first five years. Bible stories, yes, but USE them as you emphasize character building qualities. Bible chronology can come later when they have a better understanding of time.
16. Don’t always hide to pray. Children need to see you practice what you preach.
17. Walk your Talk. Think seriously about baptizing a child. Knowledge is not enough. Do they understand Biblical steadfastness (commitment)? Do they understand what it means to confess Jesus as Lord?
18. You talk they listen. They talk you listen. Listen!
19. Post family rules on the back of the kitchen door. End of discussion.
20. Food and worship do not mix. Neither do toys and worship.
21. Refusing to obey is called rebellion. Nip it!
22. Purity is respect for self as God made you. Others (boys!) need to recognize the “No!” in you.
23. Encourage, encourage, encourage!
 
Col 3:17 And whatever you do in word or deed, [do] all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.

Joanne Beckley

     I have been in waiting rooms a lot lately.  When you have a rare condition, you tend to be there more often and when your doctor treats only the difficult cases, the wait is longer—the corporation tends to schedule appointments much more closely than he can possibly keep up with in a timely manner—in this case, every 10 minutes.  So I regularly sit two to three hours before I even see the man, but when I finally do, he is friendly, good-natured, but serious about my problem and gives me all the attention he thinks I require, which has been up to an hour.  So he gets even more behind because of me.
     I was in that waiting room recently, along with about two dozen others.  It tends to get more and more crowded as the day wears on and the doctors lag more and more behind.  Across the room a young child, maybe 3, was obviously tired of waiting.  He was out of his chair, whining, and stamping around on his little red sneaker clad feet.  His father sat on one side and his mother on the other.  Each parent was busy with a phone.  In fact, the mother also had her laptop open.  All they did was hiss at him to be quiet and sit still and immediately return to their devices.  He was three years old!  He had been sitting fairly still for at least 20 minutes!  What did they expect?
     Parents!  Please put your phones away.  Do it right now just to prove that you can!  But more than that, put it down and pay attention to what is going on with your children.  I have no doubt you will have plenty of time to look at the thing sometime during the day, but being a parent to your children is the most important part of your day, not being a parent to your phone.  That is exactly how it looks sometimes—like the phone needs more care than the child.
     I am not unsympathetic.  My poor boys have sat with me for hours in waiting rooms because grandparents lived hundreds of miles away and we could not afford babysitters and food for them and eye medicine for me.  I did not expect them to sit absolutely still and quiet.  We took bags of Matchbox cars, books, and favorite stuffed animals.  Occasionally we all played together, but usually they did fine with each other.  I also had a couple of non-messy snacks for them, and bottles of water or juice.  When time became long, I told the receptionist I would be in the parking lot should they call me, and we went out to walk around and explore so they could get some fresh air and enough exercise to kill the antsy-ness.  The people in the office were always understanding and complimented them when finally we left.   Most of the time, all your children want is a little attention.  They want to know they matter to you. And then they can be happy by themselves a little while longer.
     I walk past mothers in the supermarket who are looking at their phones, or even talking on them.  A few times the child in the seat of the cart was about to stand up and reach for something and mom had no idea until I pointed.  Once, I was ready to make a mad dash to catch a falling child even if the mother was far closer than I was.  Put down your phone.  If it's someone who really matters, who is truly a friend, they will understand.  Talk to your children.  Listen to your children. 
      I have about had it with moms and their "me time."  When you decided to take on the privilege of raising a soul to God, you sacrificed a lot of things, including regular "me time."  Please don't resent it, don't resent the children who are causing it.  In a few very short years they will be gone, and what will they remember of their childhood and their parents?  Watching them look at their phone all the time?  Trying to ask a question only to be met with, "Shhhh," over and over?  Needing a hug and getting a glare instead?
     Think of it this way:  you are learning to be the servant God wants you to be.  Suddenly, you won't be spending an hour putting on make-up when you go out.  You will find that instead of shopping for yourself, you are spending the available income shopping for children who outgrow clothes faster than ice cream melts in a Florida summer.  By the time those precious souls have left you, you will have grown into exactly the kind of servant God wants you to be, still serving others, even looking for ways to serve others, because you have finally grown up spiritually and understand the secret of true happiness—serving others, not self and certainly  not a phone.
     That won't happen if you look at your phone longer and more often than you focus on your child.  Nothing on that contraption is more important than they are. 

And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which ye shall command your children to observe to do, even all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life…(Deuteronomy 32:46-47).

Dene Ward

It takes us three days to pack for a camping trip.  I have a list saved on the computer that I print out every time—three pages.  Yes, I said three pages.
            Just for meals, for instance, I pack cups, mugs, plates, soup bowls, a measuring cup, grill tools, saucepans, skillets, the coffee pot, propane stoves, matches, gas canisters, coffee filters, a griddle, a folding grill, a mixing bowl, silverware, mixing spoons and spatulas, foil, Ziplocs for leftovers, a bacon drippings can, paper towels, dish soap, a dish pan, dish towels, hot pads, and trash bags, and that doesn’t count the food!  Now imagine things you need for every part of your day, from brushing your teeth, to hiking, to showering, to sitting around after dark reading, to going to bed, and you begin to see why the list is three pages long.
            We use this list because I have found that if I don’t have it to cross off, I will invariably forget something.  From time to time we delete something on the list or add something as our situation changes.  When we were young we didn’t need to take two boxes of medications. 
            We keep a backup disk of items saved on the computer.  That list is on it.  Should we ever lose it, I might even be tempted to never go camping again.  I cannot imagine having to remake the list from memory.  More likely, we would remake it around the fire the first night after discovering all the things we forgot.
            When we had boys with us, I had other things on the list that were equally important.  In fact, I was probably more careful about their things than mine.  I wanted them to have enough clothes, especially enough warm clothes.  I learned that lesson the hard way when we woke up by a mountain stream one June morning to fifty degree temperatures and they had nothing but shorts and tee shirts to wear.  Fifty degrees in June?  As a Florida native I didn’t even know that was possible, and I felt horrible, quickly mixing up some warm oatmeal and hot chocolate while Keith built a campfire for them to huddle around as they ate.
            We are all on a trip every day of our lives.  What have you packed for your children?  Too many parents just let life happen without a plan.  Do you teach them?  Do you talk with them every chance you get about a God who loves them, who made them, and who expects things of them?  Do you discuss the things that happen in their lives and the decisions they made, or perhaps should have made?  Do they know that those decisions will affect their eternal destiny?  Do you allow them to pay the consequences for their mistakes, or do you shelter them?  Do you tell them what the world is really like out there, how to recognize the traps, the enemies in disguise and the true values of life?  Are you sure you have everything they could possibly need to assure their eternal destiny?
            Maybe you need to make a list.
 
We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might, and the wonders that he has done. He established a testimony in Jacob and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers to teach to their children, that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children, so that they should set their hope in God and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments; Psalms 78:4-7.
 
Dene Ward

I don’t know what we would have done without hand-me-downs. 
            Lucas survived his infancy on borrowed baby clothes, but that young mother soon needed them again so there were no tiny clothes to pass down to Nathan.  At that point we were living by a children’s clothes factory and could go to the outlet store and buy seconds for as little as fifty cents each.  Each summer and each winter I dug my way through a mountain of irregulars and managed to find three shirts and three pairs of either shorts or long pants, according to the season.  Sometimes the colors were a little odd, like the “dress” shoes I bought for Lucas when he was two—maroon patent leather with a beige saddle—but they covered his feet for $1 and no one was likely to mistake them for another child’s shoes.
            Then, just as they reached school age, we found ourselves in a church with half a dozen little boys just three or four years older than they.  Suddenly my boys’ closet was bursting.  They were far better dressed than I was, and they had even more waiting to be grown into.  They didn’t mind hand-me-downs and neither did our scanty bank account.
            Keith and I have followed suit.  Probably 75% of my clothes are hand-me-downs, and the rest I picked up at consignment shops and thrift stores, with only a handful of things I bought new, always off a clearance rack.  Keith has more shirts than he could wear in a month—we didn’t buy a one of them.
            When you get a hand-me-down, sometimes you can’t wear it as is.  Sometimes it’s my own personal sense of taste, meager though that may be.  Sometimes it’s a size issue.  I have been known to take up hems or let them out if the giver was taller or shorter than I.  I almost always remove shoulder pads.  I have wide shoulders for a woman and shoulder pads make me look like a football player in full gear.  If the collar has a bow, a scarf, or high buttons, those go too—I hate anything close around my neck and it makes my already full face look like a bowling ball.  So while I gratefully accept those second hand clothes, I do something to make them my own.
            Which brings me to handed-down faith.  Being raised in the church can be both a blessing and a curse.  Being taught from before you can remember means doing right becomes second nature.  There is never any question where I will be on Sunday morning because I have always been there.  There is never any question what I will do when it’s time to make a choice that involves morals or doctrine.  There is never any question about my priorities—my parents taught those to me every day of my childhood, both in word and deed.
            Yet God will not accept any faith that is not my own.   Yes, He was with Ishmael for Abraham’s sake, Gen 17:20; 21:13.  To those who are dear to His children, but who are not believers, God will sometimes send material blessings, 39:5, and physical salvation, 19:29, but He will not take a hand-me-down faith until it becomes personal, Ezek 18:1-4.  I have to reach a point where I know not only what I believe, but why, and that faith must permeate my life as I lead it, in every situation I find myself in, in every decision I must make, but at the same time come from my heart not habit.  If I have not reached that point, what will I do when my parents are gone?  Will my faith stand then?  Or will I be like Joash, who did just fine as long as his mentor Jehoiada the priest was alive, but fell to the point of killing his cousin Zechariah, a prophet of God, when he was finally left on his own? (2 Chron 24) 
            Pass your faith on to your children, but your job doesn’t end there.  Help them make it their own.  Let them tear out those shoulder pads and lengthen those hems.  It really isn’t a compliment to your parenting skills if all they can do is mimic you while you are still alive to keep tabs on them.  You might in fact be limiting them by demanding exact conformity to every nuance of your own faith.  Their faith could very well soar farther than you ever thought about if you let them fly.
            But the real test comes when you are gone.  Can you rest well with the job you have done?
 
I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, since I know that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things. For… we have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts, 2 Peter 1:13-15, 19.
 
Dene Ward