We heat with wood.  A thirty-six-year-old Ashley wood stove sits in the heart of our home—the kitchen and family room area.  Our boys grew up watching their father labor with a chainsaw, axe, and splitting maul, eventually helping him load the eighteen inch lengths of wood into the pickup bed and then onto the wood racks.  Every time a friend or neighbor lost a tree or several large limbs fell, the phone rang, and the three of them set off for a Saturday’s worth of work that kept us warm for a few days and the heating bill down where we could pay it.

            At first those small boys could only carry one log at a time, and a small one at that.  Wood is heavy if still unseasoned, and always rough and unwieldy.  By the time they were 10, an armful numbered two or three standard logs, even the lighter, seasoned ones.  They were 16 or older before they could come close to their father’s armload of over half a dozen logs, and grown men before they could match him log for log.  Even that is a small amount of wood.  In a damped woodstove, it might last half the night, but on an open fire barely an hour.

              So I laugh when I see pictures of an 8-10 year old Isaac carrying four or five “sticks” up Mt Moriah behind his father Abraham.  To carry the amount of wood necessary to burn a very wet animal sacrifice, Isaac had to have been grown, or nearly so, not less than 16 or 17, and probably older and more filled out.  In fact, in the very next chapter, Genesis 23, Isaac is 37 years old.  In chapter 21, his weaning, he is somewhere between 3 and 8, probably the older end, so all we can say for certain is he is between 3 and 37 at the time of his offering.  Our experience with wood carrying tells me that he was far older than most people envision.

              Do you realize what that means?  This may well have been a test of Abraham’s faith, but it also shows that Isaac’s faith was not far behind his father’s.  He could easily have over-powered his father, a man probably two decades north of 100, and gotten away.  He, too, trusted that God would provide, even as he lay himself down on that altar and watched his father raise his hand.

              How did he know?  Because he watched God provide everyday of his life.  He saw his father’s relationship with God, heard his prayers and watched his offerings, witnessed the decisions he made every day based solely on the belief in God’s promises, and his absolute obedience even when it hurt, like sending his brother Ishmael away (Gen 21:12-14). Isaac did not know a time when his family did not trust God, so he did too.  “God will provide” made perfect sense to him.

              When that young man carried that hefty load of wood up that mountain, he went with a purpose, based upon the example of his father’s faith and his Father’s faithfulness.  Would your children be willing to carry that wood?
 
The living, the living, he thanks you, as I do this day; the father makes known to the children your faithfulness. Isaiah 38:19
 
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 on 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

Silas came to visit a few weeks ago 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 that one.
              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

When I was a child we played several board games—Easy Money, Sorry, and Life usually, about the only things we had besides Checkers and Scrabble, which was our parents' game.  Although my boys were more into playing outdoors, climbing trees, jumping off limbs on a Tarzan swing, and shooting the bad guys, whether robbers, Indians, or aliens, they enjoyed a board game occasionally, too.

              So one year as I was trying to teach them the life of David, it suddenly occurred to me that learning that life might be a lot easier if it were a board game.  So after a couple different versions were tried out, the Life of David game came into existence.  I even used it in Bible classes.

            This past spring, we kept our two grandsons for two full weeks.  We have Bible lessons every night when they come to visit and as I was wondering what to teach this time around, I suddenly remembered that old David game.  I wondered if, at 5 and 8, it might be a little too soon, but they sure showed me!

             The first night I brought out the game and showed it to them.  "Your daddy and your uncle used to play this," I told them, and instantly they wanted to also.  "First, you have to learn about David, or you will never be able to play the game and win."  Their only question was, "When can we start?"

              I had already gone through 2 Samuel and the first three chapters of 1 Kings and divided it into 7 lessons, with 6 memory verses.  I had drawn lesson sheets—questions with multiple choice "picture" answers, especially since Judah was just finishing up Pre-K this year—not that I needed to worry.  He can read as well as I could in first grade!  We did a lesson every night for a week, reviewing the previous lessons before starting a new one.  After we did the seventh lesson, we spent time reviewing the memory verses cards.  (See "The Return of the Stick Man, part 2", posted 7/11/18).  Finally, on the 8th night we were ready to play the game.

             They loved it.  We played it several times over the second week, letting that time be the "Bible lesson" for the day as they cemented facts and verses into their little heads.  When it was time to go home, they wanted to take the game with them.  That's how much they liked it, and I dare anyone reading this to quote those six memory verses and answer all of the 2 dozen questions involved in the game.

              So how do you make your own?  Well, I have no copyright on it, so let me tell you.  If you can draw a straight line with a ruler and write legibly, you can do it, too.  But your first task is to learn the life of David yourself.  You will never be able to make an accurate game otherwise...

            …So now that it's maybe a week or so later, and you know the life of David like the back of your hand, here is what you need:  a standard sized piece of poster board, a black and several colored Sharpies, a straightedge, some card stock, and a pair of scissors. 

1.  First, take your poster board and draw a large square at what you have decided will be your beginning point, usually the bottom left hand corner, preferably in a bright color, and write "BETHLEHEM" on it.  Since David was born there, that is your "START."

2.  Using your black Sharpie and the straightedge, begin drawing a zigzag track around the poster board.  The track should be about an inch wide.

3.  Each "square" of the track should be about 1 ½ inches along the track.  As you mark them off, write the various events of David's life and a "consequence" in the squares.  For example:  Kill Goliath.  Go ahead three spaces.  It's okay to have a blank spot here and there.  The boys called them "Safety Zones" because nothing bad can happen to you there.

4.  Every half a dozen squares should be a "?" in a contrasting color.  Obviously, if you land on that, you have to choose a question from the pile and answer it. (More about that in #9.)  In my game, a correct answer lets you move ahead one space and an incorrect answer sends you back one.  You can make it even more consequential if you want to.

5.  Every five or six question marks should be an MV question (down in the corner of the square), which means you have to do a memory verse from the memory verse pile.  More about that in #10, but the same consequences of correct or incorrect follow.

6.  Something a bit trickier here:  David spent a lot of time running from Saul, particularly in Ramah and Gath, and he had a lot of trouble with the people of Ziph who kept telling Saul where to find him.  So as I reached those particular portions of David's life, the board looked something like this:  R ? A ? M ? A ? H.  I did the same with Gath and Ziph.  Do you see?  It was a dangerous time, so there are more questions!  I was also not afraid to put things like "Lose one turn" in those sections. 

7.  On the top and final line of the game, was a brief detour into the wilderness.  That's where David once again had to flee when Absalom rebelled.  So if you landed on the square that led to the wilderness, you had to take that detour.  If your number safely sent you past it, you were lucky.

8.  The final square of the game was a large blue "HOME."  We talked about all of God's people trying to make it back "home" at the end of their lives by doing God's will and accomplishing his purpose for them.  The boys got the point instantly.

9.  Finally, go back and cut out smaller cards, about the size of those Chance Monopoly cards, and write your questions from the Life of David.  Where was David born, Who was David's father, How many brothers did David have, What job did David do for his father, and so on, all the way through his life, ending with, Which son rebelled, Which son tried to take over the kingdom while David was dying, and Which son became king after David died?

10.  Now about those memory verse cards.  When I taught the boys the six memory verses I had chosen—not all from Samuel, by the way, but all matching the evening's lesson in some way—I used the method in the Stick Man post cited above (5th paragraph from the top).  By the time playing the game actually came around, those cards had been significantly reduced to one or two drawn images on much smaller cards that by then instantly evoked the verse in question.  By the time Mommy and Daddy came home, those boys shocked them by what they had learned and what they could do, in spite of the fact that Daddy himself had done it as a little boy.

              So, are you wondering how to teach your children about the Bible in a way that is fun, but very educational?  Make your own Life of David game—or Life of Any Bible Character game for that matter.  You might learn a little bit yourself.
 
For David, after he had served the purpose of God in his own generation, fell asleep and was laid with his fathers…(Acts 13:36)
 
Go to the gallery on the left sidebar for pictures of the David game.
 
Dene Ward

If you missed yesterday’s Part 1 post, take a minute now and read it.  Today we will make a memory verse card.

              Get out your pencils and let’s try a few things.  But before you do, let me add this—you do not have to be an artist.  The only one who is worried about what those drawings look like is you.  Once the child knows what they are, he uses them like other people use mnemonics—to help him remember.  And this is where the good old stick man comes into play.

              I cannot draw.  I can’t even do a Jackson Pollock splatter.  Oh, I can do the basic tree--a brown stick with a fluffy green cloud on top.  I can do a light bulb, which comes in handy every time you come across the word “light” in a verse.  I can do the daisy on a stem with two leaves and the square house with two windows and a door.  For a sheep, I can draw yet another fluffy cloud, this one white, with four stick legs, and a head and tail. 

              No, I can’t do much in the way of drawing—but I can make a stick man do practically anything.  He can pray, he can kneel, he can run, he can walk, he can fish (I will make you fishers of men), he can sleep, he can shout, he can talk or preach or sing or any other sound, simply by drawing him an open mouth.  You tell the children what he is doing—trust me, they will remember. 

              One other thing:  make important words look special.  Always put God or Lord or Spirit in a puffy cloud.  Draw only the bottom half of a cloud and write “heaven” in it when you need that word.  Take words like faith and grace and good and evil, put them in all caps and box them in an appropriate color, like blue for good and red for evil.  Before long, those children who are “too young to learn anything” will actually start to recognize those special words.

              So what did I do with that hard memory verse Silas brought home?  Remember as you read the verse below, the drawings replace one word or phrase; you don’t write the words under the drawing.  What I drew ended up like this (the brackets are the pictures I drew instead of the word or phrase immediately preceding them): 
 
              See [Stick man with hand above his eyes as if he is looking off in the distance] what kind of love [heart] the FATHER (in a cloud) has given to us [3 stick men, one handing something to two others] that we should be called [stick man with hands around his mouth and flared out lines coming from his mouth] children [several smaller stick people] of GOD (in a cloud).
 
              Silas learned that verse in one afternoon, and he loved that card.  If he could learn that one, what’s to stop him from simple things like “You are the light of the world, a city set on a hill?”  Come on now, you can draw that one yourself, right?

              One more step remains in this process.  Eventually you should reach the point that you can draw only one or two of the pictures from that card onto a smaller one.  Then use it like a flashcard.  When your child sees it, s/he should automatically spout out the longer verse.  It will happen.  As you add verses, you constantly go over the old ones using only the small “one picture” flashcards.  I used to have the parents come into the class after services at the end of every quarter.  When they saw their two and three year olds quoting ten or eleven memory verses just from looking at a simple line drawing, or a good old stick man, on an index card, they were amazed.

              Your child can do it too.  I know it, and so does God.
 
Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children's children--Deuteronomy 4:9.
 
See the gallery on the left sidebar for pictures of memory verse cards and flashcards.  If you click on the picture it will enlarge.
            Note:  This is not the verse in the post above.  This is one we used during the lesson where David refused to harm Saul in the cave of Engeddi (see tomorrow's post).  But this one will show you what to do with verses that do not easily lend themselves to drawing.  Like the word "wrath."  Bright red in a jagged balloon.  When you tell a child that wrath means really, really angry, they will get it.  Of course, you will also have to explain "avenge" and "vengeance," but the explaining itself will help cement those words in their minds.
 
Dene Ward

The mind of a child is an amazing thing.  It processes and stores information like a computer, tons of it every day as he learns how to communicate, how to get along with others, how to quantify, how to adapt.  And he learns these things much faster than we seem to realize.  Trust me, your child knows when you are happy with him and when you are not before he is a year old, and he knows how to get exactly what he wants—he will train you far better than you will train him if you aren’t careful.

              Although I taught all ages of piano and voice students, my Bible class teaching gradually shifted till I was teaching the middle school class most of the time.  I forgot some of the techniques I had used so long ago when my own boys were toddlers.  Then Silas came to visit during Vacation Bible School and they sent him back to us with a memory verse, the wording of which I knew immediately would be difficult for a three year old: See what manner of love the father has given to us that we should be called children of God, 1 John 3:1.

              Just repeating this three or four times was not going to get it done.  Then I remembered the old memory verse cards I used to make for the toddler class.  You turn the memory verse into something resembling a rebus, a picture puzzle, substituting drawings for certain words.  I developed my own “ethics” though.  I never used what I call text language.  No number 4 for the word “for” and no homonyms.  That would only make the verse harder for them to comprehend, which was the ultimate goal. 

              That leads me to an important aside.  Some people are convinced that small children cannot memorize; some are even convinced that memory verses are overrated.  Small children cannot memorize?  Have you ever heard a two year old recite word for word an entire scene from a Disney movie?  Have you ever accidentally misread their favorite book only to have them say, “No!  It goes like this…” and then proceed to finish the page for you? 

              Just because it’s scripture doesn’t mean they can’t do it.  Josephus says of the Jews that their children were “nourished up in the laws from their infancy.”  Edersheim says in Sketches of Jewish Social Life that in the time of Christ, home teaching began when the child was three, and then at five he started the book of Leviticus!  What a way to begin. As far as memory verses being overrated, I don’t know what I would do without the verses that were implanted in both my head and heart from the time I can remember.  They rise up when I need them, and have gotten me through a number of tough situations.  How can anyone say that having the word of God instantly spring to your lips and your mind is overrated?

              As for these memory verse cards, Silas loved them.  Even though he couldn’t read them, he carefully pointed out word for word, using the pictures to jog his memory.  Whenever I pulled it out he asked, “Can I hold it?” and was thrilled to show others how he could say his memory verse.  Isn’t that the kind of reaction you want from your children as they learn the word of God? 

              Tomorrow’s post will lead you through the process of making a memory verse card.  I hope you will overcome your skepticism and join me again.
 
Blow the trumpet in Zion; consecrate a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Consecrate the congregation; assemble the elders; gather the children, even nursing infants. Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her chamber…Tell your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children to another generation. Joel 2:15,16; 1:3.
 
Dene Ward

All of a sudden, my mother can no longer take care of herself.  As with most things, I am sure it was a gradual process, one we had missed seeing until it became impossible not to.  So in the past few weeks we have moved her to assisted living, a clean, safe, and pleasant place with more than adequate care.  That has meant going through her things item by item, photograph by photograph, sheet of paper by sheet of paper—more than 10,000 sheets, I am sure.  It has meant copying power of attorney documents again and again, faxing to mysterious phone numbers, trying to get through phone banks with half-forgotten passwords and codes, signing paper after paper and check after check.  The stress was worse than the work, I think, but finally the worst seems to be over.

              I looked at Keith and said, "We need to start thinking about this ourselves.  If we don't need it, throw it away.  If it will not be important to our kids, toss it.  Don't buy any more of something we have plenty of, and if it's broken and we don't get around to mending it or repairing it within a few months, put it in the trash."  What we have thrown away in the past three months would have filled half a dozen dumpsters.  Our burn barrel has worked overtime on items with confidential information that are far past the need for keeping.  Do we really need all three versions of my mother's will or just the most recent?  I think the answer to that is pretty obvious.  Let's not put our children through this.

              Instead, let's look at what we have that is valuable, that would mean something to them, that might actually make their lives easier, and take better care of those things.  Let's make sure they are legible, neat, and filed in an obvious place.  If I expect them to want any of my cookbooks, let me make the notes in them useful and understandable.  If they want my piano music, let's make sure it is filed in alphabetical order and that torn pages are carefully taped back together.  Let's write the names and dates on the backs of photographs, and the names of the givers inside gift books.  Let's keep owners' manuals in an appropriate place and never leave them outside where the weather might destroy them.  And we could go on and on.

              All of these are good, but here is something much more important:  look at your family today and make a judgment about the spiritual state you are leaving them in.  If your children are in high school and still don't know how to sort their laundry or put gas in the car, most people would consider you a poor parent.  But if they are in high school and cannot carry on an intelligible conversation about several spiritual matters, including pertinent scriptures, "poor" wouldn't come close to describing your parenting skills.  It is not only your job to make them ready for life, it is your job to prepare them for spiritual success as well.

              They should be "in training" as apprentice Christians, memorizing scriptures, reading and discussing during family time the meaning of their studies, accompanying you when you visit and when you serve, cooking for others, cleaning for others, handling the yard work for widows or older couples who no longer can (perhaps for their own grandparents), and doing all those things you do as a Christian so they will be able to take over seamlessly when the time comes.

              Let's not leave out churches.  We should be looking around and imagining the congregation ten, fifteen, twenty years from now.  Who will do the teaching?  Who will serve as deacons and elders?  Are you preparing anyone at all?

              I am afraid that too many churches will dry up on the vine when the present crop of older heads dies off.  Others will wander off into some sort of sectarianism, drifting from the teachings of the New Testament until they no longer even resemble the church Christ died for because we have forgotten to teach them "Why."

              Every generation must look around and prepare for these things, and hope it isn't already too late.
 
…I seek not yours, but you: for the children ought not to lay up for the parents, but the parents for the children. 2Cor12:14

Dene Ward

When Silas came to stay all by himself for the first time, we were not sure how he would handle being away from Mommy and Daddy.  Especially since we were over two hours away, it would have been impossible to get him back home quickly if he were too homesick to last.  He was still three, barely, and, though he had stayed alone with us the night Judah was born, and the night after as well, that was at his own home and he slept in his own bed.

              We managed to keep him talking about happy things all the way home, deeper and deeper into the “dark, spooky woods” as he later called it.  It was after nine o’clock at night and, if you have never experienced it, there is nothing quite as dark as “country dark”—away from the streetlights, traffic lights, parking lot lights, and neon signs of the city.  Only once or twice did he stray into the dangerous territory of “Where will I sleep tonight?” in a pensive tone of voice.

              “We’re here!” we shouted as we pulled up to the gate, wondering aloud in excited voices if Chloe would come to meet us.  That kept him happy as we pulled into the carport and unfastened his booster seat straps.  Then, just as we walked toward the back porch, an owl screamed not fifty feet away, sounding every bit like a hysterical woman, followed by a “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha” before finally settling into its usual “Who-hoo.” Silas was up those steps in a flash, plastered next to his grandfather’s leg and looking over his shoulders with eyes as big as Frisbees.  How could I tell in the dark?  Even in the dim starlight I could see white all the way around those big blue irises.

              “Uh-oh,” I thought.  “He will be terrified for the rest of the night.”  Luckily Grandma had made some ooey-gooey chocolate cookies and that took care of the problem.  That first impression, which could have ruined the entire stay, was fairly easily overcome, but I think it often is for children.  It’s the adults among us who hang on to them.

              And that brings me to today’s point.  We all know that old saying, “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”  I wish we could remember that all the time, not just when we are meeting someone we hope to impress for our own selfish interests.  Everyone who comes into contact with us, anywhere and any time, is a soul we might be able to save.  What if that first impression you make is the only impression you will ever make?

              I try to remind myself of that when I have a bad experience at a store or in a restaurant.  If I fly off the handle and act like a jerk, if I indulge in harsh words that suit my sense of an injustice having been done me, demanding “my rights” as a customer or patron, how will I ever persuade them to study the Bible with me?  Could I turn right around and hand them an invitation to church services, a gospel meeting, or a ladies Bible class?  Just exactly what kind of reaction do you think I would get?  Did you have a bad morning?  Our bad moods can be very expensive—they can cost someone else his soul.

              So remind yourself the next time you are caught in a tricky situation.  Paul told the Corinthians they should be willing to suffer wrong so the church wouldn’t be ridiculed by the litigious behavior among them (1 Cor 6:7).  What are we willing to suffer so the first impression we leave with someone, won’t guarantee that it will be the last?
 
Show yourself in all respects to be a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, dignity, and sound speech that cannot be condemned, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us, Titus 2:7-8.
 
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.

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.