The car hummed along the highway as we carried our two grandsons to our home while mommy and daddy were away for a few days.  They slept away most of the two plus hour long trip, waking in time to see the unfamiliar countryside sweep past on the last road “over the river and through the woods to grandma’s house.”

              They played the rest of the afternoon away, digging in the sand, chasing bubbles, and swinging on the old oak tree (the same one Daddy fell out of and broke his arm).  Dinner came only after a bath for those two dirty-faced, dirty-footed little fellows, a tub full of bubbles and cups and pitchers to pour over each other.  After their favorite mac and cheese, chicken nuggets and applesauce, it wasn’t long until their eyes were drooping and they were ready for bed.  “The tired-er the better,” we thought, especially for that first night. 

              They fell asleep quickly, twenty-month-old Judah in the “Pack and Play” and four year-old Silas by his own choice next to his little brother on the twin-sized airbed.  We listened through the rest of the evening, but never heard a peep. 

              However, at 4:52 a.m. I sensed something by my bed and woke to a small figure standing there in the starlight filtering through the curtains.  Dark in the country is not like dark in the city.  We have no streetlights—unless you live entirely too close to an uprooted city slicker who thinks he needs one, and we don’t.  We have no concrete to reflect the moonlight either.  When it’s dark, it’s dark, and if you are not used to navigating by God’s natural night lights, you think you woke up in a tomb.

              “Silas,” I whispered, “what’s wrong?”

              “All this dark is keeping me awake,” he said quite seriously, and even though I was sleepily thinking, “All this dark is supposed to keep you asleep!” I knew exactly what he meant.  Even though we had left a nightlight right by his bedroom door, it was far darker than he was used to, and when he woke it troubled him.

              By then Granddad had wakened as well, and he took him back to bed and lay with him until he was once again snoring his soft little boy snores, not much more than five minutes afterward.  He slept another three hours with no problem at all.

              I thought sometime later that week that this little boy had it right.  The dark should be keeping us awake.

              Even the Old Testament faithful understood the concept of walking in the light.  O house of Jacob, come let us walk in the light of Jehovah, Isa 2:5.  It seemed natural, then, for the Son to claim to be the light as well.  I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life, John 8:12.  And so, as children of God, we, too, are lights.  For you are all children of light, children of the day.  We are not of night or of darkness, 1 Thes 5:5.

              Unfortunately, the light has come into the world and the people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil, John 3:19.  As “children of light” we should be opposite the world.  We should not love the darkness; we should hate it. 

              This will come more naturally if we mature to the point that we don’t just walk in the light and not walk in the darkness.  Look at Eph 5:8:  for at one time you were darkness, but now are light in the Lord.  Do you see that?  Light isn’t just something you walk in, it is something you become.  Just as at one time you didn’t just walk in the darkness, you were darkness.  We have completely changed our essence.  No wonder we are supposed to hate the dark.  No wonder the mere presence of it in the world, among our neighbors, our friends and even our family, should be keeping us awake at night.

              All this dark is keeping me awake Lord, should be a lament on every Christian’s tongue.  Not only that, we should be actively trying to rid the world of that very darkness.  Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, Yes, rather, reprove them, Eph 5:11. 

              If the darkness in the world isn’t enough to keep a “child of light” awake, perhaps he has become something else.
 
Arise, shine; for your light is come, and the glory of Jehovah is risen upon you. For, behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the peoples; but Jehovah will arise upon you, and his glory shall be seen upon you. And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising. Isa 60:1-3.
 
Dene Ward

Andrew Jackson Dowling was born on October 31, 1815.  Although he had many interests, including horticulture and landscape design, he is also known for his designs in Gothic Revival Architecture, which first introduced American architects to the importance and necessity of a front porch.  Porches had been in existence for millennia in the forms of porticos, verandas, piazzas, and loggias, but they had never been "in demand", especially among the wealthy, and never among Northerners, until the work of Dowling.  He made the "sitting porch" popular, usually an integral part of the architecture on the front of the house, ornately decorated with framer, posts, rails, lattices, brackets and aprons.

               Both of my grandmothers had front porches, but nothing as elaborate as all that.  I remember visiting them when I was a child, sometimes just a day, sometimes a weekend, and once or twice a whole week after we moved a distance away.  It was usually summer and neither of them had air conditioners, and though I know it was as hot as it is nowadays, I don’t remember it.  I sat on their front porches much of the day, the swing making its own breeze as I dangled my bare feet over the cool, smooth, gray-painted plank floor.

            One porch was out in the country next to a grove of oranges and kumquats with horses grazing in the pasture behind it.  The other was in the middle of town, its steps fronting on Main Street, and we would watch people go by as we hid in the cool shade behind a morning glory vine growing up and across the porch posts and over the roof.

             My grandmothers never tired of talking to me, answering every question I asked, telling stories of “the olden days” that fascinated me because they seemed so foreign to my life.  I couldn’t imagine a house with no electricity and no running water.  I couldn’t imagine life with no television set droning on in the background. 

              I enjoyed those times with my parents too, their stories of playing without real toys, Christmases that brought an orange and some nuts and maybe a little hard candy in a stocking, and washing clothes with a wringer washer.  I remember my mother telling about her grandmother, a woman who rose before light to make a breakfast of pork chops, eggs, grits, gravy, and biscuits every morning while the men were out doing the first chores, a meal filling enough to last them through a day of hard farm work in southern Georgia. 

              My own boys liked to ask about our childhoods while we sat shucking corn every summer.  Silking was their job, tedious work that invited a lot of talking and listening just to keep yourself going until it was done.   Their dad grew up on the side of a hill in the Ozarks in an old stone house without running water, only bare light bulbs in each room, and a bucket of drinking water in the kitchen on which his mother would sometimes have to break a layer of ice on a cold winter morning.  He could tell stories about milking cows before school at the age of 6, a small school where two grades sat in each class, about pushing his bed up against the chimney in the unfinished attic to stay warm, and taking baths on the back porch in the summer.

              Sharing these things is important.  This is the way one generation connects to the next.  Knowing where we came from answers many of the natural longings we all have, and helps us to find meaning in our lives.  I worry about the children now, who scarcely have any time with their parents at all, much less enough time for stories about their pasts and the questions that should instantly follow.  It also leads to questions and stories about more  important things, and makes them far more willing to listen to you when it
counts.

              God has always expected his people to make time to talk to their children.

              And when in time to come your son asks you, 'What does this mean?' you shall say to him, 'By a strong hand the LORD brought us out of Egypt, from the house of slavery. For when Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let us go, the LORD killed all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both the firstborn of man and the firstborn of animals. Therefore I sacrifice to the LORD all the males that first open the womb, but all the firstborn of my sons I redeem.' It shall be as a mark on your hand or frontlets between your eyes, for by a strong hand the LORD brought us out of Egypt." Ex 13:14-16.

              And Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of the LORD your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do those stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever." Josh 4:5-7.

              When your son asks you in time to come, 'What is the meaning of the testimonies and the statutes and the rules that the LORD our God has commanded you?' then you shall say to your son, 'We were Pharaoh's slaves in Egypt. And the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand. Deut 6:20-21.

              What happens when a generation arises that doesn’t know these things? And also all that generation were gathered unto their fathers: and there arose another generation after them, that knew not Jehovah, nor yet the work which he had wrought for Israel. And the children of Israel did that which was evil in the sight of Jehovah, Judg 2:10,11.

              That’s why this is so important.  Talk to your children today, or your grandchildren, or even your neighbor’s children.  Make a connection to them that will bring them closer to you and through that, closer to God.  If you think you don’t have the time, then give something up.  Providing them a physical inheritance isn’t nearly as important as providing them a spiritual one.

              Find yourself a “front porch” and make use of it before it’s too late.
 
Telling to the generation to come the praises of Jehovah, And his strength, and his wondrous works that he has done. That the generation to come might know, even the children that should be born; Who should arise and tell it to their children, That they might set their hope in God, And not forget the works of God, But keep his commandments, Psalm 78:4,6,7.
 
Dene Ward

I have mentioned the two weeks we spent babysitting and the fairly comprehensive study I did of David with our two grandsons, Silas and Judah, culminating in "The David Game."  (See the right sidebar and click on Children.)  As the first week of lessons wore on, you could see David growing into a bona fide Superhero in their eyes.  Every day they eagerly awaited the next adventure.

              Then we reached 2 Samuel 11.  As I went through the narrative in terms I thought they could understand—David stealing both a man's wife and then his life—they became quieter and quieter.  Their little blond heads dipped until their chins nearly touched their chests as they wrestled with the concept of a good guy who acted like a bad guy. 

              "Uh-oh," I thought.  "Have I ruined everything?" 

              As it turns out, I hadn't.  We were able to talk about good people making bad mistakes and how God always forgives and takes us back as long as we are truly sorry, willing to say, "I was wrong," and try our best not to sin again.  Their spirits lifted.  After all, they got in trouble now and again too, didn't they?  Here was proof that they were still loved.  David was once again a Bible hero.

              The story of David—of Judah and Peter, too—is an inspiration and a warning to every Christian.  No matter how well you have done for how long, you can still fall, but no matter how far you fall, God will take you back.  But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. (1John 1:7)  We all hunger for that forgiveness and revel in its comfort.

              Yet I have seen too many adults who, when they realize their heroes are not perfect, refuse to give that same forgiveness.

              All children grow up thinking Mommy and Daddy are Superheroes.  Sometime around middle school the luster begins to fade.  By high school, parents are so often "wrong" they can barely be tolerated.

              And the truth is, parents are ordinary people.  They do make mistakes, sometimes big ones.  They have annoying habits and less than stellar character traits--just like every other human on the planet.  The larger problem is they have children, sometimes grown children, who won't accept anything less than perfection.

              When God tells us to forgive one another (Col 3:13 among a host of others), that goes for parents too, and any other person we have expected perfection from—mentors, teachers, preachers, elders, etc.  We have no right to sit in judgment over their apologies, deciding whether or not they are sincere based upon nothing but our own arrogant expectations.  We certainly have no right to ruin a relationship they might have with someone else.  I have seen grandparents have no opportunity for a relationship with their grandchildren because their unforgiving children hold on to grudges from the past.  Meanwhile, those same unforgiving children are making their own mistakes as parents because no parent does it all right—no, not even them, no matter what they might think otherwise.  I have seen the same things happen to elders and preachers by an unforgiving congregant who spreads his ill will everywhere at every opportunity.  Ruining another's perspective somehow validates his own.

              Forgiveness isn't just for strangers or people we aren't particularly close to.  The mistakes of a parent, mentor, or teacher may be more difficult to bear, but an unforgiving child or student  or spiritual dependent is devastating to everyone.
 
Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. (Eph 4:31-32)
 
Dene Ward

As we brought not-quite-five-year-old Silas home with us for Vacation Bible School one summer, he squirmed a bit in his booster seat, eying the long crowded highway ahead of us and the “boring” scenery of rolling green pastureland in Florida horse farm country. 

              “How long will it be?” he asked, the perennial question of travelers.

              “It will be awhile,” I said, “but if you were to fall asleep, the trip would be over in a flash.  Suddenly you would wake up and we’re there!”

              He lifted an eyebrow and gave me a skeptical look.  “But I don’t like naps,” he firmly stated, with his little arms crossed.

              “Well,” I said with one of those what-do-you-do sighs, “that’s your choice.  Either a long wait or a nap.”

              He thought a minute and finally, categorically stated with a firm nod on each word “I choose a long wait.”

              Five minutes later he was asleep.  He never has been able to stay awake in a car, something I hope will change by the time he turns 16 and starts driving.

              I couldn’t help wondering how many of us look at the choices set before us and stubbornly make the wrong one.  God tells us how dangerous the world is.  He warns against deception and trickery.  He tells us our salvation is our own responsibility so be careful who you follow.  Yet even when we look at the choices side by side, we seem so drawn to the wrong ones.  They are immediate.  They are tangible.  They are pleasant.  The idea of something far superior in the future seems to be pie in the sky.  “A bird in the hand…” the old saying goes, and we fall for it nearly every time.

              It would be so much easier if God made the choice for us, if he made the sleep overwhelm us involuntarily so the trip would be over in an instant, but where is the glory in a creature who cannot choose? 

              The idea that God did not give us a choice is, of course, a fairly common theological doctrine.  Yet it limits God in ability and creativity.  It makes Him a respecter of persons.  It makes Him unsympathetic and unapproachable, a tyrant who makes decisions seemingly at random, playing with the eternal souls of people as if they were plastic action figures.  That is not the God of the Bible.  There are too many heart-rending pleas for us to return.  There are too many passages giving options to people in all sorts of situations, including whether or not they will serve Him for that to be true.

              He gave me a choice; he gave you a choice.  Make the right one.
 
I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse: therefore choose life, that you may live, you and your seed, Deut 30:19.
 
Dene Ward

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