Angels Unawares?

Joanie Cahill, Free Images 

The other evening, I felt like I was caught up in a "Touched by an Angel" rerun. In my quest to minister to my shut-in neighbor, Cecile, I took her to the hardware store across town late in the afternoon. Afterwards, she guided me along side roads to bypass the heavy after-work traffic.

At the end of one dark road, I stopped, looked to the left, then pulled out, making a right turn. I nearly collided with a car in the wrong lane. Our lane! Nose to nose with us. I quickly swerved to the shoulder and ran over something horrendous. The car suddenly felt heavy with a peculiar groan as I coaxed it down the road. Quite similar to my inner groan. I inched the car to the next open spot only yards away, parking in the small lot of a closed antique shop.

Hands anchored on the steering wheel, I turned to Cecile in the passenger seat. "Well, I think it's the back right tire."

She opened the door and peered outside. "No, it looks fine to me."

I wasn't so sure. "Let me check, just in case. Something doesn't feel right."

Once outside, I examined the back tire. Sure enough, it looked fine. Then I checked the front right tire. Totally flat. Ugh!

I took a deep breath. Okay, regroup . . . and pray. This is an opportunity to show Cecile how the Lord will come through in a difficult situation. Don't miss this!  

Opening the driver's door, I slipped inside. "Lord Jesus, we need Your help," I prayed out loud.

"Yes!" Cecile echoed. "Maybe you can get to Ralph Edward's place a couple streets over," she offered. She knew the man. He used to live in our house, and he worked on cars.

"I don't think so," I countered, sensing the features of my face scrunch. "The tire's totally flat."

"Oh, this is all my fault." She fidgeted in her seat. "If I hadn't asked you to take me to the store, this never would've happened."

"Don't blame yourself, Cecile. We're not going to play the 'if onlys.' The Lord knows all about this." I spoke with growing courage. I wanted her to catch a glimpse of God at work, for I knew she needed to see that. "Let's trust Him."

She pointed straight ahead. "Maybe that market up there."

While she didn't want me walking in the dark alone in a bad part of town, she was still willing to let me venture out. Since our options were limited, I forged ahead. Purse tucked close to my side and ignition key clutched in my right hand, ready to gouge an assailant, I plowed on, feigning a confidence I did not feel, boots scuffing the well-worn dirt path. Two dark figures with lit cigarettes scurried past.

Abba Father, help me. I inwardly breathed and kept on moving.

At the convenience store, a Middle Eastern clerk tended a customer while a tall African American youth wearing a white cap stood behind another counter eyeballing me. He looked available, so I hurried over. I explained what happened and asked if he had a phone I could use to call my husband, because I didn't have a cell phone, nor did Cecile.

"Nope, no phone." He didn't even bat an eyelash, standing there over his hot dogs. Even the smell didn't tantalize me at that moment. I sighed and darted to the other clerk, now fumbling with some receipts. The youth followed, I suppose eager to find out how this would all go down. "Do you have a phone I could use?"

Black eyebrows bobbing, he shook his head.

My heart dropped. "Okay, well, I really need some help. Could either of you change my tire?" All those times my husband tried to show me how to work the jack in our early years of marriage with me huffing and complaining. I should've listened.

"No, sorry, I can't help you," he muttered. 

This was getting nowhere, and Cecile sat in a car growing colder by the minute. I thanked the clerks (for what I don't know--a place of refuge for a few minutes if nothing else), and braced myself to walk the creepy path back to the car. Though only a couple doors down from the store, the car seemed far away. But a lot can happen in a few feet.

And so it did . . .

Right past the store, I turned my head to the left and saw an auto shop tucked back from the road. An OPEN sign flickered on the garage door. My eyes widened, and I leaned in to catch a better view.

Could this be the help You're sending, Abba? 

I maneuvered my way through the shadowy lot, past cars and equipment on either side, eyes fastened on that OPEN sign, and followed the arrow to the left indicating the ENTRANCE. Uncertain what I would find on the other side of the door, I reached for the knob, cold to the touch. Standing tall (all 5 feet, 3 inches of me), I pushed the door open.

In the small shop, one large bell-of-a-man with sock hat covering his head sat in a swivel chair. His baby-like face looked harmless enough. Another smaller man with glasses and a Latino look puttered about. He approached when I entered. I rattled off my story, his face full of curiosity and concern.

"Can you help me?"

"Carefully inch your car down to our lot, and we'll see what we can do."

I felt better already.

The auto shop was only one lot ahead of where my locked car housing Cecile and her goods was parked. I nearly flew out the door, speed walking to the next lot. I unlocked the car, slid inside, and cranked the engine, all the while filling Cecile in.

I crept the car next door and pulled up to the garage. The door slid open, spilling light into the darkness. What a welcome sight!  The mechanics gestured me inside, indicating with their customary hand signals when to move to the left or right and at last come to a stop.

I got out of the car while the large man stooped by the flat tire. Amazing he could do that! I wondered how he would maneuver to his feet once the job was complete. The smaller man uttered orders while stepping around to the trunk to retrieve the spare. I followed, then popped the lid and grimaced.

Piles of stuff--like an old attic. I apologized and started digging through the assortment of boxes, Frisbees, broken rake, and golf balls. We quickly devised a system, he handing me an item, and I placing it on the cement. A random golf ball escaped a grocery bag, clinking its way over the floor. A nervous giggle escaped my throat. Embarrassing, to say the least. At last he unearthed the spare tire.

Minutes later I thanked the men as the smaller one placed the severely damaged tire with large hole in the trunk, followed by all the junk.

"What do I owe you for your trouble?" I wrung my hands in an effort to stay warm.

"Oh, nothing." The small man smiled, his accent definitely Spanish. "Merry Christmas!"

"Thank you so much! You were certainly an answer to prayer tonight!"

In the car, I backed out of the garage, all the while verbally praising the Lord for His provision and His protection.

Only Abba knows the full impact of that evening in Cecile's life and in the men's lives (or were they angels?)--Cecile said she'd driven that route lots of times but never noticed that auto shop.

And while I venture a guess at the impact in my own life--a deeper appreciation for my Father's faithfulness, I still ponder the event and His working in and through it that perhaps only eternity will reveal.

My Anna

My Anna. That's what I call her. Just a wrinkled widow woman, an old country gal really, with a pure, simple devotion to Christ that showed up in her prayers. A visual reminder to me of another Anna, the widow mentioned in Luke 2:36-38 who pointed people to Jesus, served the Lord faithfully, and gave thanks to God.

From the first day my Anna stepped in to my ladies' prayer group, bowed her head and prayed, I knew she was different. Real. No fluffy words to impress, simply one friend talking with another. One day, she was in need of a refrigerator. She prayed humbly, but with expectancy. She knew the Lord would hear and answer. And He did, only a few days later.

Over the seven years we actively prayed together, my Anna taught me to seek the Lord in all things; to never fail to thank Him in all things, and to embrace Him as my number one husband. In prayer, she would often quote portions of Isaiah 54:4-5: Fear not . . . the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more. For your husband is your Maker, whose name is the LORD of hosts; and your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel, who is called the God of all the earth.

Women flowed in and out of my weekly prayer group, but my faithful Anna stuck with me until God moved my family to another church. So precious was our weekly time together, that I didn't want to lose it. So on occasion I would stop by her house and tap on her door. A big smile would emerge on that wrinkly face when she opened the door and saw me standing on her stoop. She'd urge me inside to exchange updates, then we'd pray together, just like old times.

The years passed, and my Anna grew more frail. One day as I pulled up to her house, I noticed a "For Sale" sign in the yard. My heart dropped to my stomach. Was she dead? I'd been dreading this moment for a long time. I walked across the street to her neighbor who often looked in on my Anna and shopped for her. She told me she was now in a nursing home and gave me the name. Saddened, but with a sigh of relief to know where she was, I thanked the neighbor.

Determined to keep our relationship alive, I visited my Anna, noticeably more feeble than when I'd seen her last. She didn't remember me but enjoyed hearing the stories that resulted from our prayer times together. Like the time a young man gave his life to the Lord during an Easter service. The time when our oldest daughter committed her life to full-time missions in India. The time when another young man in the grip of drugs and alcohol finally surrendered to Jesus.

With great praise and pleasure, to this day, I realize God is still working in answer to our prayers . . . for a church in demise for so many years, now resurrected and on a new path of growth. For a husband who struggled with pornography but who I now know was actually the strongest during our seven active praying years.

I still visit my Anna, and we still rejoice together over answered prayer. Through a teary, toothless smile she says, "I still love Jesus."

"I know," I tell her, stooping to plant a soft kiss on that ever wrinkling cheek.

She pats my hand. "Now you come back and visit now, ya hear!"

And I do, thankful that though she doesn't remember who I am, in her frailty, in both our frailties, we share a heartbeat that distance and eventually death can't stop, for our love for Jesus binds us for all eternity.

A Vet's Caring Gesture

It was 4:30 when we loaded our terrier, Buttons, into the car. A cold misty rain fell, accentuating our dismal mood. My oldest, Rachel, clung to Buttons in the front seat while Michelle and Stephanie sat soberly in the back. During the forty-five minute drive, the winter sky darkened and the rain poured.  A feverish Buttons twisted and turned in Rachel's lap, periodically nestling his nose into her neck. Adjusting his blanket like a mother tending her sick child, Rachel quietly wept, her tears falling onto Button's tousled head. Staring straight ahead, I suppressed a sob.       

A melancholy foursome walked through the vet's door.  I approached the counter and told the receptionist that we had a sick pup requiring immediate attention. The nurse escorted us right back to an examining room. When the doctor came in, Rachel placed Buttons on the table as we all gathered around to observe. She stroked Button's stomach, while Stephanie patted his head. Michelle stood aloof.  I watched, my thoughts scrambling for order and direction.

The vet felt all around Button's small bloated body, starting at his head and working down to his tail. His temperature was 103 degrees. After the customary tacit period of the exam, the vet took a deep breath and spoke.

"Buttons may be suffering from some type of intestinal blockage or tumor. We would have to perform more tests to determine exactly what the problem is. Most likely surgery would be necessary."

I asked more questions to clarify the data, wanting to make sure we understood before making a determination. In the intense pressure of the moment, I knew I bore the brunt of any decision. I also knew the girls were relying on me to do the right thing for Buttons. Looking around the room, I studied each girl's face in hopes of finding an answer.

"Could we have a few minutes alone to talk about this?" I asked the vet.

"Sure. Take as long as you need," he responded, lowering his head and turning to leave.

As the door closed, the girls and I stared at Buttons, then at one another. Rachel and Stephanie continued to stroke Buttons. Michelle hung back. I wondered what she was thinking and feeling.

"Well," I stammered. "We need to decide what is best for Buttons now." I started to cry, which made Rachel and Stephanie cry more, while Michelle stood in her corner observing the scene. "Buttons is in pain," I labored on. "He's thirteen-years-old, has congestive heart failure, and now a new condition on top of that. I think his physical problems are just going to get worse. Even if we treat this one, it's only a matter of time before another ailment crops up. We love him as our pet, but we need to use our best judgment."

 Michelle spoke up from her corner. "I don't want Buttons to suffer any procedures. He wouldn't like that. He's been through enough."

I glanced at Rachel and Stephanie for confirmation. They remained silent and continued to stroke Buttons. I could tell from their demeanors that they knew Michelle was right. They just couldn't verbalize it.

"Well, then," I blurted, beginning to shake with emotion, clutching my sides in hopes of gaining composure. "We'll let Buttons go."

Summoning the nurse from the next room, I told her we were ready for the doctor. After a minute, he cautiously opened the door. With downcast face, he approached the table.

"We've decided to let Buttons go."  The words spilled from my mouth like water from a faucet.

The vet laid his strong, gentle hand on Button's side. Our dog that normally would have scrambled to exit the room, lay still, his anxious brown eyes like wide deep pools, searching ours.

"I understand," the vet sympathized. Noticing our tears, he added, "I'll give you a few more minutes with him." Fully aware that the decision we had made was final, we sobbed, gasping for air with every breath, each in her private world of pain, yet united.

We gathered around Buttons talking to him as if he understood the import of the moment.  I lowered my head, closing my eyes in silent prayer. At last, we called the doctor in. He filled the fatal syringe as Stephanie stood crouched holding Button's head, sobbing and kissing him and speaking to him with gentle reassurance. Rachel and I held each other while Michelle stood against the wall, still observing without emotion. Struggling, I released each girl to experience the hurt in her own way. I was thankful that my teen girls were mature, able to understand the decision and work through the pain.

Right before the injection, the vet again laid his hand on Buttons and asked if he could say a prayer for us and our dog.  Having never received such a request from a vet before, I was surprised, but comforted by his caring gesture. I heartily agreed.

"Dear Lord," he began, "please be close to this hurting family and their beloved pet, Buttons. Comfort them in Your name.  Amen."

I inwardly mused. How like our precious Father to put a praying vet into our lives at just the right moment when we needed a touch from His hand. God was reassuring us that He who made all living things, who notices when a tiny sparrow falls, also cared for our Buttons.

We drove home in silence. Rain was still falling, but it couldn't equal the torrent of tears we had shed. We arrived home with puffy, thick eyes and numb hearts. I called my husband at work, sharing the details with him. Weeping, he longed to be with us,

hold us, and share in our grief. I realized through Button's death that my girls had learned a life lesson--letting go of someone you dearly love and trusting God to take care of the pain. We would have precious memories of Buttons to cherish through the years and God's comfort to hold onto through the tears.

~~

Eileen Rife, author of Second Chance, speaks to women’s groups. Her three daughters are now grown with families of their own. One of her chief joys is playing with her six grandchildren who provided the inspiration for her upcoming gift book, Wit & Wisdom from the Wee Ones. www.eileenrife.com, www.eileen-rife.blogspot.com

In the Heat of the Night

In the heat of the night . . .

No, I'm not talking about a cop on the beat or even sexual passion. I'm referring to that nasty fever and chills created by a monster infection that keeps you awake hour after hour. 

As an aside: It must be a fearful thing to see your mother-in-law in the same bathrobe day-after-day, hair mashed on one side five days in a row. You knew you didn't sign up as an orderly in a convalescent home, but here you are, nonetheless.

Winter illness isn't all bad. I can't believe I'm writing that! 

In truth, if you're worried about not spending enough time with Jesus in this New Year, I have the perfect prescription: 

Eat loads of sugar and all the rich foods you want.

Stay up late.

Avoid exercise.

Make sure you stand next to someone with a hacking cough.

Before you know what hit you, you'll be curled up in bed, alone with a fever, deeply troubling cough, and your thoughts.

That's where time with Jesus comes in. In your sanctified imagination, you can walk with Him on a deserted beach, stroll a garden path, ride a white horse bareback, curl up in His arms, His hand upon your feverish brow. All the while remembering He is Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, and Wonderful Counselor. Healer! You can pray for others as they come to mind. You can recite Scriptures, such as "...underneath are the everlasting arms;" or "I will never leave you nor forsake you;" or "His mercies are new every morning."

And don't forget to pour on the gratitude . . . 

A cool glass of OJ

Warm covers

Heat pump kicking on

Vaporizer hissing

Heating pad warming your chest

A grandchild's giggles in the next room

Add a touch of humor and you can consider a week of sickness time well spent.

Aside from that--here's praying you stay warm and well.

Well, uh, not so warm as in the heat of the night.

Christmas Card Prayers

A few years ago, our family decided to make good use of all those Christmas cards and letters we receive during the holiday season. Rather then toss them out after Christmas, we place them in a basket on our kitchen table. Cards and letters we hurriedly opened and hung during the busy days of December, we now thoughtfully scrutinize in the New Year.

After breakfast, each one of us draws a card/letter from the top of the pile. We then take turns lifting the giver of the card up to our heavenly Father for His continued work in his or her life. We pray specifically for any needs mentioned and praise God for ways He has already answered prayer during the past year. When we finish praying, we place the cards on the bottom of the stack. We follow this routine until we have prayed over every card and letter in the basket at least two times.

Praying over our Christmas cards creates a bond with family, friends, and missionaries, many of whom we have not seen for years.

For more ideas and inspiring reading, visit my Author Page

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003O405FO

Every mom at some time or another has done it . . .

I wager a guess every mom at some time or another has done it. 

When the girls were little I would flee to the bathroom, not to use the john, or sit on the naughty chair, but to hide out. Time-out for mom, I called it. Another word for that is “coward time." Hiding in the bathroom to escape the tyranny of childish ways. The whining. Fussing. Arguing. 

With door closed and locked, my charges would sit on the other side begging mom to come out while I ruminated on the throne. It wasn’t all bad, really. I had the place fixed up quite nicely. Linen hand towels. Sweet-smelling soaps and lotions. Candles. Miniature lamps. Home decorating magazines. Soft, thick toilet paper, just right for making out grocery lists. I was a queen in her castle. And for a few brief minutes of privacy I could breathe free, recharge, regroup, and reconsider how to deal with my children during those times when tempers flared and tongues wagged. 

When all grew quiet on the other side of the door I knew it was time to leave my refuge. Quiet could mean either trouble or bliss. Of course, I hoped for the latter which would reaffirm in my mind that my little exit to the bathroom had been sufficient to redirect the girls. More often than not, when I would crack the door and peek out, the girls would flood out of their rooms and surround me with sweet hugs. Mischievous imps in angels’ clothing. I knew this, but the hugs always threw me for a loop and I would succumb to their endearing ways. 

Hiding in the bathroom offered a respite for me and redirection for the girls. Time alone ushered me into the throne room of God where I could vent my frustration and seek God’s wisdom. I became the little child running to her Daddy, climbing up in His lap and throwing my arms around His neck. His face so full of love and patience in spite of my many childish fits and complaints. His arms so strong in spite of my weakness. His hands so gentle in spite of my folly. His smile so warm in spite of my coldness at times. And His heart so full for me. I leaned in to Him and heard His quiet song of love. I heard His words of comfort and direction. A Father talking to His daughter. In that moment, all was well. I could face my charges once again. The parent had been parented.
 

I always knew that room of the house was good for more than one thing.

~~

 Eileen Rife, author of the Born for India trilogy, enjoys time with her three grown daughters. Her six grandchildren inspired the soon-release, Wit & Wisdom from the Wee Ones (OakTara). www.eileenrife.com, www.eileen-rife.blogspot.com, www.guardyourmarriage.com.

A Special Target

After walking around in an undefined malaise the past couple of days, I woke up this morning with the profound realization that Christian writers are a special target of the Enemy's assaults. When we go into the dark places of abuse, neglect, murder, trafficking, and a host of other dilemmas with our characters, we grieve with them. We expose them to the life-changing redemptive power of Christ and the victory He offers. Sometimes, our characters respond to the offer; other times, they do not. And we grieve all over again. As writers in an oftentimes lonely profession, we sit in front of a computer screen a large bulk of the day and identify with characters working through a variety of issues and offer them hope. Satan hates this! And who does he attack? Not our characters, but the engine behind our creations--US! We sometimes emerge from our story worlds totally spent--mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

That's where the loving Body of Christ comes into play, especially other brothers and sisters who understand the writer's daily journey. We need each others' prayers for victory over the Enemy!

Remember when Moses stood on the hill watching as the Israelites fought the Amalekites? As the story goes in Exodus, chapter seventeen, he lifted his staff with both hands, supported by Aaron and Hur, one on either side of him. As long as his arms were lifted, Israel prevailed, but when his arms dropped, the enemy prevailed.

Oh, how I need you to stand on either side of me today through prayer and support my up-lifted arms, pen in hand. If you're a writer, I suspect you need the same prayer encouragement in your writing journey. Regardless of our ministry or occupation, we all desperately need prayer!

Let's commit to pray for one another, for He is greater than the Enemy, and He will bring the victory!

Joining in prayer with you,

Eileen  

Telling Our Kids the Truth About Life Without Scaring Them to Death

I grew up in small town America. Neighbor kids and I roamed the hills (literally, since we lived in the Smokies). We stayed out past dark, playing kick the can and catching those illusive fireflies. From the time my eyes were level with the kitchen table, I strolled down a few blocks to our local grocery store where Mr. Adams, wearing his stained butcher's apron, would greet me at the door with a cheery hello. I walked to school every day by myself. My parents left the front door unlocked. Mom's greatest caution to me was "Never take candy from a stranger." I don't even remember a stranger offering me candy. You see, in my town, no one was a stranger. And the person who gave me candy the most was the beloved storekeeper, Mr. Adams. To me, the world was my playground.

My hometown is still small, but I dare say kids no longer roam freely or adults leave their doors unlocked. Times have changed. And with that, all the things we must educate our kids about. Here are some areas to cover and thoughts to share when the questions come, and if they never come, the things you as a parent are responsible to communicate in order to adequately prepare your child for life.

ABOUT WAR

Never a better time than the present day to sit down with your child and have a heart-to-heart talk. He is hearing things "out there" that can be confusing and frightening. He needs the reassurance of a stable parent in times like these. Stay informed. Answer his questions honestly, with just enough information to satisfy. Your tone of voice and facial manner will communicate fear, uneasiness, or confidence in a God who is in control of our lives, as well as the lives of the rulers of the world. Take him to scripture. Memorize passages of comfort and faith. Tell him the stories of times past. War and the threat of global conflict and unrest have always been an issue. Take him to the Lord in prayer. Hug him often. Surround him with good and happy things. Use discretion in viewing the news. Take practical steps to collect necessary items in case of an emergency, but don't obsess. Model strength, faith, and peace before him and he will take those things with him wherever he goes. He will most likely reflect your attitude and state of mind.

ABOUT DRUGS

Teach your child the facts about drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes. Don't just assume the school system is doing its job. You are the parent. Make sure your child knows the reality of what drug use can do to the mind, body, and spirit. If possible and appropriate, tour a drug rehab center. A firsthand view of what drug detox really involves can be eye opening. A picture is indeed worth a thousand words. Again, use scripture as the foundation for this training, as well as all others. The child must know that his body, as a believer, is the temple of the Holy Spirit and what he puts into it is either a disgrace or an honor to the Lord of lords! Even if the child is not a Christian, as an awesome creation of God, created in His image, he owes it to himself to keep his body free from harmful substances that undermine God's work.

ABOUT PEERS

This area is closely related to the above topic. We firmly believe that peers will either make or break a young person! Especially as a child moves into junior high and his major support is shifting from parents to other teens. Teach your child early on to choose friends wisely. Lead your child in a study of Proverbs, a practical guide to godliness in all areas of life. Help him list characteristics of a good friend. Solomon addresses our choice of companions often, which makes this old book as timely today as it was thousands of years ago. This one area alone is a major reason why a family should consider Christian education as an alternative to public schooling. Not isolation, but better opportunities to choose wisely. Rather than be thrown into a sea of multiple choices, it narrows the playing field, which is easier for a child in the formative years. Parents are close at hand to model values, monitor mistakes, and encourage godly decision-making.

ABOUT SEX

If you have been open in answering questions from day one, then this should not be a difficult area to communicate. Again, your attitude and availability will make all the difference. I (Eileen) remember our nine-year-old running into the kitchen from playtime. I was busy washing dishes, but I could tell something was on her mind. She didn't wait for me to ask. She blurted out, "So, how does one DO IT?" "Do what?" I countered. "Have sex?" she questioned. She felt comfortable coming to me because I had always been straightforward in answering her questions in the past. I pulled up a chair, and quietly explained the process of intercourse. Rather than being shocked, she simply replied, "Oh, okay." And ran back outside to play. I can only imagine that she had gone to set her friend straight or reaffirm what she had already heard.

Again, the scriptures are our basis for all of life. Show them the beauty of sexual love within a marriage. But teach them that God has guidelines set up for our good and not our harm, that we may not bring evil upon others and ourselves. Emphasize purity in the growing years. Read good books together to lay the foundation. Preparing for Adolescence by James Dobson is an excellent study, including book and tapes. We used this on our get-a-way overnight for mom and daughter when each girl turned twelve. Passion and Purity by Elisabeth Elliot is another good set of tapes. The Josh Harris book, I Kissed Dating Goodbye is great for encouraging abstinence. Very honest and forthright in his approach, he recommends emphasizing group ministry over the dating game. In this way, young people get to know one another in a truer setting than when they isolate themselves. Also helps avert temptation and promote purity.

ABOUT PREDATORS

Not just "don't take candy from a stranger anymore." With the explosion of Internet use, the dangers have significantly increased. Chat rooms can lead to stalking right in your own neighborhood. Warn your child and set limits and guidelines for online use. Stay educated yourself. Technology has changed even in our children’s lifetime. That's how fast things are moving! Get advice from police officers. Join a neighborhood watch program. Some practical things to remember:

1.  Have keys in hand before going to your car.

2.  Be aware that some predators hide under cars and pull their victims by the ankle.

3.  Walk to your car with confidence. Keep purse tucked under your arm, not swinging to your back.

4.  Get in the passenger door if a van or car parked beside you looks suspicious. Some predators pull their victims in when the person goes to get in the driver's side.

5.  Keep car doors locked at stoplights and intersections.

6.  Don't walk alone, especially at night. Always pair up.

7.  Avoid unlit areas and unknown areas.

8.  Report strange activity to your local police.

9.  Scream loudly if attacked. This will often scare a predator away for fear of being detected.

10.If put in a car trunk, kick out the taillights, and stick your hand through the hole to flag down the car traveling behind.

These are not items we like to think about for our kids or ourselves, but we need to make them aware of safety measures. The main thing is TALK TO YOUR KIDS, LISTEN TO THEIR QUESTIONS, AND ANSWER WITH CONFIDENCE. Don't be afraid to say, "I don't know; let's find out about this together." Prayerfully, with these guidelines in place, you can tell your child the truth about life without scaring him to death.