We have a new wrens’ nest, this time in the old drain pipe at the side of the porch, the one we blocked up to reroute the rain away from the steps.  It’s fun to watch the mother shoot up the cut-off spout lightning quick, evidently hitting her avian brakes just inside so that all we see is her short stubby tail sticking out.  Then it gradually disappears from sight as she eases her way toward her nest. 

            I stood there the other morning after she had disappeared and listened to the cheeps and peeps of her babies as she fed them.  It was surprisingly loud, coming through that pipe, and it reminded me of a recent Sunday when our crowd of little ones suddenly out-preached the preacher.  He had to stop for a minute before he could continue on, but was quick to say, “Praise God for the babies.  Don’t ever be embarrassed at the noise your precious children are making.  Isn’t it wonderful to have so many?”

            Indeed it is.  I know of churches where there are none—zero—zilch—nada.   In fact, in some there are only a couple of people under 40 and only three or four under 60.  Yet some of those same churches sit on their laurels, talking of the past when their number was double, and looking to a time ahead when an upsurge in the economy will produce more jobs in the area and “possibly more Christians will move in.”  Excuse me?  Why don’t they do what the first century Christians they claim to emulate did?  Go out and make some more Christians with the people you already have on hand!

            There is another aspect of this.  I hear of people leaving churches “because there are no young people.”  Now it may very well be that the mindset of that group is antagonistic to the young, or at least not encouraging.  But in most places that is not the problem.  You have to start somewhere and that may very well mean that you and your family are the only young people.  How long it remains that way could be the reason God put you there. 

            Why not go to your young friends and bring them in?  Don’t apologize for the fact that the church is aged.  Most of the time, people do not go to a church for entertainment.  When they can finally be persuaded to go, it is usually out of spiritual need.  I don’t really think they will be as picky as you might think if those “old folks” are kind and loving to them.  And let me say it yet again, old folks have a lot to offer in wisdom and experience.  God could raise up young people out of these stones, to paraphrase the Lord.  The fact that he doesn’t puts the responsibility squarely upon us all.

            Jesus undoubtedly loved the sound of children.  He wanted them around him, and so should we.  I have seen far too many old curmudgeons wince and growl when a child was his idea of “too noisy” in the worship services.  The fact that their parents brought them, even knowing that they would very likely be embarrassed, not just that Sunday but the next and the next and the next, as they taught their precious charges the ins and outs of “church manners” (whatever that means), shows they have the humble hearts Christ sought in all his disciples.  Very likely those children will grow up that way too. 

            Let there be noise in the assembly, especially the noise of babies.  Praise God for the children!
 
And they were bringing unto him little children, that he should touch them: and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was moved with indignation, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me; forbid them not: for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall in no wise enter therein. And he took them in his arms, and blessed them, laying his hands upon them. Mark 10:13-16.
 
Dene Ward

I remember visiting my grandmothers when I was a child, sometimes just a day, sometimes a weekend, and once or twice a whole week after we moved 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 columns 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

You know the story so I won’t go into much detail here.  Pharaoh had ordered the Hebrew baby boys killed and one mother had enough faith to put her infant in a lovingly woven and waterproofed basket in the Nile River.  Pharaoh’s daughter came to the river to bathe and found him, and his alert and very smart big sister offered to get him a Hebrew nurse—one who just happened to be his mother.
 
           And so Moses was raised by two mothers.  Jochebed kept him close to her those first years, probably as many as five to eight, before she weaned him.  But nursing was not all she did.  She taught him who he was, who his people were, and who his God was.  She did an amazing job.  In those few years she made him strong enough to stand against the temptations of wealth the like of which we have probably never seen.  And that wealth was not just contrasted with poverty, but with some of the most oppressive slavery imaginable. 

            After that Moses lived in the palace with his “foster” mother for thirty years or more.  She undoubtedly lavished him with luxury and provided him with one of the best secular educations of the time.  Just look at the pyramids if you think those people were ignorant.  He became so much an Egyptian that he even looked like one (Ex 2:19).

            So here is our point today:  Which mother am I?  Do I check on their schoolwork, but never make sure their Bible lessons are done?  Do I even know if they have their lesson book and Bible with them when we leave the house Sunday morning?  Do I teach them how to make a budget and live within their means, but never teach them how to make time for prayer and Bible study?  Do I make sure they get to school but actually give them a choice about whether they go to church or not?  Do I teach them the social etiquette of what to wear at which occasion but never teach them about modesty?  Do I teach them the Bill of Rights but never talk about giving up those rights for the sake of the gospel and peoples’ souls?  Do I teach them to save for their financial security but never teach how to keep their souls secure?

            Your child knows what you think is most important.  He will take his cue from you.  Are you a Pharaoh’s daughter or a Jochebed?
 
By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter; choosing rather to share ill treatment with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; accounting the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt: for he looked unto the recompense of reward. Heb 11:24-26
 
Dene Ward

As a toddler Silas had a bedtime ritual.  First you read “Pajama Time” to him.  Then you gave him a cup of milk and then his blanket.  Then it was time to walk all over the house looking for “Puppy,” his stuffed dog and bedtime buddy.  Daddy had “hidden” it somewhere and he had to find it. 

            So the two of them searched, Silas trailing his blanket as he walked.  “Is that Puppy?”  Daddy asked when they saw a stuffed elephant.  Silas shook his head no.  “Is that Puppy?” and another shake of the head at the sock monkey.  And another at the teddy bear, and another, and another.  Finally, they found Puppy right where Daddy had placed him.  “Is that Puppy?” he asked one more time, and Silas would nod yes and hold out his hands for the proffered pet.  Then the thumb went into the mouth and the baby went into the bed, perfectly content.

            One Christmas Eve, things did not work out so well.  Silas had already had three naps due to the journey to grandma’s house and the various family stops along the way.  He was wired by the excitement of lights and presents and people.  Still, his eyes began to droop so the routine started, but when Puppy was “found” and Daddy asked, “Is that Puppy?” Silas looked at it and shook his head no.  He had decided he did not want to go to bed, and as long as he couldn’t find Puppy he thought he wouldn’t have to. 

After several more attempts, Daddy threw Puppy across the room to him.  Silas looked down when the stuffed animal landed with a soft plop.  Then he picked it up, shook his head no, and threw it back to Daddy.  No Puppy, no bedtime.  Of course, he found out differently, and not in the usual easy way.

We can all look at that childish attempt to deny the truth of the situation and smile.  Isn’t that cute?  And pretty smart for a sixteen month old.  But only for a sixteen month old.

Have you ever known someone who was ill and refused to go to the doctor?  As long as it isn’t diagnosed, that pain or that lump or that persistent cough isn’t anything bad.  I am not sick.  I am certainly not dying.  We look on such people with pity.  But we do it to ourselves all the time.

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves, James 1:22.

For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself, Gal 6:3.

Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap, Gal 6:7.

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us, 1 John 1:8.

            For some reason we think we can pretend our way into Heaven.  As the Pharisees who “for a pretense make long prayers” Matt 12:40, we think we can sit in the pew on Sunday, call ourselves Christians to our neighbors, and that’s all it takes to make it so.  You might be surprised how many have already figured us out because that is also part of deceiving ourselves.

            “But we are persuaded better things of you, and things that accompany salvation,” Heb 6:9.  I doubt anyone reading this really needs this lesson.  Let it just be a little reminder not to fall into that trap.

            The world, though, is still deceiving itself.  It thinks that if it denies the existence of God that will make it so.  Denying God means no accountability.  It means I can live as I want without worrying about the consequences, such a comforting thought that it is easy to see why so many fall for it, regardless the increasing evidence of a Divine Creator. 

            Yet the world can shake its head all it wants.  It can pick up the Puppy and throw it back, but nighttime will still come, and they will learn to believe the hard way, when it is much too late.
 
Because he hath stretched out his hand against God, And behaves himself proudly against the Almighty; Because he has covered his face with his fatness, And gathered fat upon his loins; He shall not depart out of darkness; The flame shall dry up his branches, And by the breath of God’s mouth shall he go away. Let him not trust in vanity, deceiving himself; For vanity shall be his recompense. For the company of the godless shall be barren, and fire shall consume the tents of bribery. They conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity, And their heart prepares deceit, Job 15:25,27,30,31,34,35.
 
Dene Ward
 

But solid food is for full-grown men, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil, Heb 5:14.
 
            I was amazed to find out that “full-grown” is more often translated “perfect,” at least in the ASV.  That is ironic to me, because while I will quickly say, “I am not perfect,” I would find myself a little miffed if I were called “spiritually immature.”  At my age?  Surely I am a mature Christian by now.
            So I looked up that Greek word and the places it is translated “perfect.”  It quickly became apparent that the word does not mean “sinless.”  While we understand that the meaning of a word varies according to its context in English, we seem to forget that when it comes to reading the Bible and talking about those Hebrew and Greek words.  Yet, in any language, the meaning of a word is limited by its use.  And so I read “mature” in every passage I found that word translated “perfect,” and found out how to recognize a mature Christian. [When you read all these passages, be sure to read “spiritually mature” every time you see “perfect.”]
            The maturity level of a Christian is shown by how he treats his enemies (Matt 5:43-48), by how he controls his tongue (James 3:2), by how attached he is to his earthly possessions (Matt 19:21).  A mature Christian is not easily deceived, not changeable from day to day, and speaks from a motivation of love, even when correcting someone, not from a desire for revenge, or from a feeling of arrogance, and certainly not to cause controversy for the sake of controversy (Eph 4:13-15).  A mature Christian will endure, (James 1:4), and in fact, stand fully assured of his salvation (Col 4:12).  When I look at those characteristics I can see that I have a way to go before I finally grow up, but at least I have some detailed areas to work on now instead of blindly aiming for some sort of vague idea of maturity or perfection.
            One of the residents at the medical school recently told me that I did not look as old as my chart said I was.  That was a nice moment in the day, one totally unexpected.  Wouldn’t if be awful though, if he had said that I didn’t act as old as I was?  That is where the test comes—not in how long I have been a Christian, but in how much I have grown as one.
 
So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us.  God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love [made mature] with us, that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world, 1 John 4:16,17.
           
Dene Ward

My boys survived on hand-me-downs, including hand-me-down toys.  An acquaintance gave us one of those molded plastic “rocking horses” that hang suspended by four large springs on a tubular steel frame.  The boys were so young we had to hold them on it at first, but before long they could mount it and ride on their own, the steady, groaning sproing, sproing, sproing reaching my ears as I worked in the kitchen.  As they grew older and gained experience with western heroes, particularly a certain Texas Ranger who wore a mask, I often heard shouts of, “Giddy-up,” “Whoa,” and finally, “Hi-yo Silver, awaaaaaay!”

            In their active little minds they traveled everywhere on that horse, despite the fact that they never left the room.  Sometimes we have the same problem.

            I have seen good, sincere, faithful Christians hamstring themselves by riding a certain hobby nearly to death.  No matter what subject comes up, they can finagle it around to their favorite topic.  After awhile you learn to avoid certain words that function like detonators on a land mine.  We often accuse preachers of this problem, but it can happen to us just as easily, not only about topics, but about people too.

            When you can only focus on the aggravating things about a person, you fail to see the good in them.  When all you can see are the annoyances in the church, you fail to gain the encouragement you need from the assembling together of a spiritual family.  When one pet peeve is all you see in any passage of scripture, you fail to see the things you yourself need in order to grow and improve.  Obsession can rob you of any influence you might otherwise have because everyone will just say, “There s/he goes again,” automatically dismissing anything you say.

            It is even worse when the thing the “equestrian” goes on about is actually a good and right thing.  He simply makes more of it than it deserves because to him it has become a holy grail.  He can make it seem that anyone who does not share his opinion has some sort of deep-seeded problem with a) love; b) authority; c) faithfulness; d) all of the above, choose whatever fits the occasion.  So division often occurs, if not in fact, then in spirit, because in his arrogance he believes that this “thing” is the root of every other problem we might possibly have and important enough to cause a fuss about.

            The rider may think he sees better than others, but all he is seeing is one tiny corner of the Word, while the rest remains hidden behind his self-imposed blinders.  He may think he is enjoying an amazing ride on a marvelous steed, but he is sitting on a swayback nag in the middle of a field, going nowhere.  At least the children eventually get off the horse. 

            It is a whole lot easier to get on the horse than to get off it.  Sometimes we don’t even realize that is what we have done.  Do you need to get off yours and take a new look around?  It might surprise you how far you have not come—but it’s the first necessary step to going farther.
 
Of these things put them in remembrance, charging them in the sight of the Lord, that they strive not about words, to no profit, to the subverting of those who hear.  Give diligence to present yourself approved unto God, a workman who does not need to be ashamed, handling aright the word of truth. 2 Tim 2:14,15.
 
Dene Ward

It must be a Southern thing.  We have a tendency to call the people we love after food—honey, honey pie, honey bun, and honey bunch; sweetie, sweet pea, and sweetie pie; muffin, dumplin’ and punkin’, baby cakes and cupcake, sugar and sugar plum.

            Speaking of sugar, that’s my favorite term for hugs and kisses from little ones.  Whenever a child is in my lap, I will kiss the top of his head every 15 seconds or so and not even realize it.   My own children probably have indentations there from several thousand kisses a year, just counting church time.  My grandchildren are learning it now.  And they love it.  I remember kissing Silas’s cheek once when he was two and having him run to his mama to tell her, “Grandma got sugar!” with a big grin on his face.

            Little Judah especially loves the sugar game.  The last time we were together after I had leaned over and gotten some “neck sugar” and “cheek sugar,” he grabbed his buddies and started kissing them.  First Tiger, then Marshall, and finally he even balled up a wad of blankie and gave it a kiss.  “Are you getting sugar?” I asked, and he smiled his contented little bashful smile and nodded his head yes.

            Children revel in the knowledge that they are loved.  It feeds a healthy self-esteem and gives them the feelings of security needed when they are out there trying things out and learning about their world.  Failure doesn’t matter when you are loved.

            And that is why a patently obvious love is absolutely essential to discipline.  If you are the kind of parent you ought to be—setting boundaries and punishing inappropriate behavior from early on—your child needs to know that you love him more than life itself.  He needs to hear those words and feel the warmth in your voice and your arms and your heart.  Then it won’t matter that you punished him yesterday.  He will know you love him and will try even harder to please you.

            It isn’t all hugs and kisses.  The older they get, the less that works.  But you can still show it with words of appreciation, pride, and approval.  Have you ever told your children how much it means to you when they behave in public?  How wonderful it is that you don’t have to worry what they might do in someone else’s home?  What a special gift it is in the middle of a stressful situation to know they are one thing you don’t have to worry about, that you can take them anywhere any time and they won’t act up, that it makes you want them with you even more?  Do you think that saying those things might help them behave a little better?

            If all they hear are complaints, growls, screams, and great heaving sighs of frustration and anger, all of them hurled in their direction, what do you think they will think about your feelings toward them?  Even when they are very young, they can feel the tensions.  Even when they do not understand the words, they will know something isn’t quite right.  And they will always think it’s their fault and that’s why you don’t love them.  Even when it’s your fault for not having disciplined them correctly or soon enough.  Three or four hugs will get them past a deserved and justified spanking.  It will take thirty to undo the hurt of an angry, sarcastic parent.

            The last time Silas was with us I told him how proud I was of him, the way he took his medicine without fuss, the way he sat still in church and behaved in Bible class, the way he always brushed and flossed his teeth without having to be told.  I told him how proud I was of how he took care of his little brother.  He looked up at me the whole time, his attention never wavering, with his eyes shining and a big smile on his face. 

           “I love you, Grandma,” he said.
           
           And of course, I got some sugar too. 
 
As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him…and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, Ps 103:13; Titus 2:4.
 
Dene Ward

My boys were typical boys.  They played outside more than in.  They had their own variations of football, baseball, and basketball for two players, or three when their dad was home.  They swam like fish, climbed trees, and traipsed through the woods exploring.  Since they have grown up, my hair has turned grayer and curled tighter listening to some of the things they did that I never knew about. 
 
           Their Dad encouraged them in their daring feats.  He wanted them to grow up to be strong men who would not flinch when a job needed doing, even if it was dirty, difficult, or a little scary. 

            I remember many times when he would hold out his arms and they would jump into them.  As they learned to swim, he stood out in the deeper water and they leapt as far as they could, with him reaching to pull them out before they went under for good.  Gradually he moved back farther and farther, and they were swimming to him before they realized it. 

            Once Lucas climbed a tree with a rotten limb.  He found out when the limb beneath his feet broke under him, leaving him hanging by the limb above, the bottoms of his feet a good twelve feet off the ground.  We were sitting nearby when we heard the crack and the “whump!” of the falling branch. 

            Keith walked over to see what he could do.  Nothing, as it turned out, except stand beneath his son to break the fall.  When he was certain he was in the right place, he told Lucas to let go, and he did, nothing doubting—and nothing broken on either of them when the whole thing was over.

            My sons never doubted their father.  If he told them to jump, they did.  If he told them to let go, they did.  They knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would catch them and keep them from harm.  Why can’t we have that same faith in God?  Keith could have made an error in judgment; he could have miscalculated what needed to be done to save his sons, or just missed when they jumped.  God can’t, and He won’t.

            How would you feel if your child told you he did not believe you would help him?  How would you feel if he showed absolutely no trust at all in your promises?  How do you think God feels when we do that to Him?

            It’s called a “leap of faith” because that is what it takes—faith.  When we won’t do it, we don’t have it.  It is as simple as that.  It has nothing to do with wisdom or good stewardship or common sense.  It simply means we don’t trust God enough to take care of us.  Sometimes what He asks of us seems foolish and impractical.  Those words mean nothing to Him, except to describe the people who think their own wits are better than His promises.  How foolish and impractical can you get?
 
For you are my lamp, O Jehovah; And Jehovah will lighten my darkness. For by you I run upon a troop; By my God do I leap over a wall. As for God, his way is perfect: The word of Jehovah is tried; He is a shield unto all them that take refuge in him. For who is God, save Jehovah? And who is a rock, save our God? 2 Sam 22:29-32.
 
Dene Ward

My grandsons have “buddies,” their favorite stuffed animals/characters/items to sleep with.  For Silas it is a soft fabric Spiderman, a similarly made Mario (as in the video game), and his “blankie,” a receiving blanket that has been with him since he was an infant.  For Judah it’s Tiger (stuffed of course), Marshall (a stuffed Dalmatian he named after the Paw Patrol character), and his blankie, several times bigger than his brother’s.  They go with them everywhere.  On any sort of trip, you will see those buddies in the back seat.  Sometimes they are not in the arms of those little guys, but just their presence somewhere nearby has a calming effect.

Can they do without them?  Yes, they can.  They never take them into the meetinghouse, or into a restaurant, and especially not to school.  Their primary function is as bedtime buddies.  However, should they become frightened or upset, guess who they look for?  Guess what they ask for?  When the tears start, guess what Mommy and Daddy start scouring the house for?  Once they are found, the relief is instant.  No more crying.  No more fear.  No more worries about what lies ahead.  They have their buddies, and they are just fine.  They will even tolerate being left with a babysitter or taken two plus hours north to Grandma’s house for several days without Mom and Dad as long as those buddies are with them.

At the risk of sounding irreverent, isn’t that how God and our Lord should be to us?  Shouldn’t we recognize their presence every day, in fact, plead for their presence in our lives and be grateful for it?  When things go awry, as they will sooner or later in everyone’s life, shouldn’t they be the ones we look for?  And once we are assured of their presence, shouldn’t the relief be instant?  Isn’t that what faith is all about?

Hannah could not have children, it seemed, the great longing of every Hebrew woman.  In addition her rival wife “provoked her” constantly.  She was “in great bitterness” and “wept sorely” (1 Sam 1:10).  What did she do?  She went to God and prayed her heart out.  “I poured out my soul before Jehovah,” she told Samuel (v 15).  And what happened afterward?  “Her countenance was no longer sad (v 18).

What do you do when a crisis rears its ugly head?  What do you rely on?  Who do you count on?  What calms your fears and dispels your worries?  Hannah knew who her real Buddy was, and He calmed her as no one else could.  If your “buddies” are anyone or anything besides your Father and Older Brother and your Comforting Helper, you will be sorely disappointed in the results.  

Those little boys will go anywhere as long as they have their buddies.  We sing a song, “If Jesus goes with me, I’ll go—anywhere.”  Can you?
 
I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and will execute justice for the needy. Surely the righteous shall give thanks to your name; the upright shall dwell in your presence, Ps 140:12-13.

Dene Ward

When I was a child we did not have a lot.  We always had enough, and our home was comfortable and above all happy, but we learned early on that happiness was not a product of wealth.  We did not eat out except on very special occasions, maybe the whole family once every other year and my parents only on their anniversary.  We never had a kitchen cabinet full of junk food snacks.  We drank water between meals and simply waited for the dinner hour if we wanted more.  But none of us even came close to starving.
 
           So Christmas morning was not a feeding frenzy of ripping open package after package.  Instead, we did this.  We took turns opening gifts.  And if it was a gift from you, you would have been the one to hand it to the recipient.  Then we all waited as the gift was opened and properly admired and thank-yous offered.  Then it was someone else’s turn.  Once again we all waited and watched.  Then again.  And again.  Until the gifts were all opened.

            So what did that do?  For one thing it made the whole process last much longer.  By the time we finished, our neighbors were outside playing with the customary, “Is that all?” expressions on their faces, as something they had looked forward to so long had ended far too quickly.  Usually they had more than we did, but it took us twice as long to get our little bit unwrapped, so Christmas lasted much longer for us than for them.

            Second it took the focus off “me,” not only on that day but all through the year.  We learned to pay attention to the needs and desires of others.  We learned to listen to them instead of just preparing our own replies to what they were saying.  We learned to think creatively.  “Dad can’t hear well enough to hear the words to his favorite CD.  What can I do for him?”  Answer:  find the lyrics online, print them out and wrap them in an appropriate sized box.  You might not think it was a gift, but he did.

Which leads us to the most important benefit, it taught us to appreciate the effect of our giving on others. When the gift was opened, we sat, eagerly waiting, not another toy for ourselves, but for their reaction to our gift.  When we really hit the jackpot, when sometimes a tear or two fell at our thoughtfulness, it was the best feeling in the world.  It took away the “gimme,, gimme,” and taught us what the Lord said so long ago, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

            That is what gift swapping should be about, not the grand free-for-all it has become.  We heard someone describe their annual gift opening frenzy , a five or ten minute process wherein no one ever knew what anyone else had gotten nor others’ reactions to the gifts they had given, ending it with, “But how do you stop them?”

            Well, for one thing, you don’t stand there passing them out one after the other after the other as fast as you can.  For another, you talk with your children from the time they can even begin to understand, about doing for others, about how good it feels to make them smile, to know you have given them something they really want, that really means something, even if it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.  You teach them about “priceless” gifts.  Then you exert the parental control you ought to have and direct the process, reminding them when they are still young what the point is—giving, not getting.        

            Lucas said to me one time, “My favorite part of Christmas is seeing people’s reactions to the gifts I’ve chosen.”  That is what you are aiming at.  If we want to make generous Christians out of our children, it takes a little effort, but God expects us to turn them into servants who serve not spoiled ingrates who demand.  This is just one way to help that process along.
 
​​​​​​​A generous person will be enriched, ​​​​​​and the one who provides water for others will himself be satisfied, Prov 11:25.
Dene Ward