The Light of the World

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through Him; and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. In Him was life; and the life was the light of men." John 1:1-4

Happy Birthday, Jesus, the Light of the World!

The Power of a Cover

A few months before RESTORED HEARTS was released, a woman approached me anxious to know when the book would be ready. I told her the manuscript was in the hands of my editor and would prayerfully be available soon.

The woman's son was grief-stricken and angry over his father's homosexual lifestyle. This mom was concerned that her ex-husband's behavior would destroy any hopes for a relationship between her son and his dad.

When RESTORED HEARTS came out, she bought a copy, read it, then passed it along to her son. I told her I would pray for healing and restoration in her family. The son made it to chapter three, but could go no further. He closed the book and laid it aside. The reality of what many homosexuals encounter was too difficult for him to swallow.

That was a year and a half ago. Even though I had not received any updates on this particular situation, I continued to pray as the Lord brought this family to mind.

A couple months ago, the woman approached me again, this time with a spark of hope in her eyes. She told me that her son was sitting on a park bench when a butterfly landed on his backpack. He did a double-take when he realized the insect was the exact same species as the one on the RESTORED HEARTS book cover. "Perhaps I need to go back and finish reading that book," he thought.

His mother reported that he did finish the book and told her he had changed his attitude toward his dad. He now wanted to seek healing and restoration for their relationship.

Sometimes, it's the small things--like a butterfly on a book cover revisited at a park bench--that God can use to make all the difference in the world.

The Martians have landed . . .

The Martians . . . I mean, our family has landed . . . and I can't find my husband! Oh, there he is, hiding behind the ping pong table.

To my Grandchildren, Love is Spelled T-I-M-E

To my six grandchildren, love is spelled T-I-M-E.

T ouching: Lots of hugs are in order for the little ones who are currently ages 4,3,2,1,0 (two newborns). No, not blast-off, although some days it seems like we're ready to take off with all the noise and toddler activity on the ole' Rife homestead.

I nvesting: Chuck and I have discovered that investing time in our grandchildren's interests goes a long way in building a relationship with them. For Ethan, it's working with him to snap buckles. He loves to work with his hands. For Daniel, it's lining up toy cars and zooming them across the kitchen floor. For Kylie, it's building a Lego house or singing favorite songs. For Rebekah, it's playing dress-up or reading stories. For two-month old Hannah, it's holding her while she giggles at my face. For three-week-old Gabriel, it's praying for him from a distance and anticipating our reunion in just a couple weeks. And for all the grandchildren, well the ones who can wrestle and run, Grandpa Trap is a favorite game that teaches them to persevere and "Never give up!"

M aking memories: Seizing the moment to make a memory, whether at the park playing on the slide and swings or snapping pictures of the kids jumping in the leaves, is a treat that will carry us through when we are separated once again.

E ating fun stuff: Grandma and food seem to be synonymous, so better have some healthy, yet fun stuff on hand. For Ethan, it's Grandma's chocolate smoothies. Little does he know that I sneak a handful of fresh spinach into the mix. :) For Kylie, it's what she used to call, chocy milk. For Rebekah and Daniel, it's mac and cheese and whole green beans. An ice cream cone for dessert is a treasured treat!

All these pursuits take TIME, but this is what spells LOVE to my precious grandkiddos. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

THE TRUTH PROJECT

How you counter the culture makes a difference in your child’s life.


During a recent camping trip with a few families from our church, I (Eileen) was adding more wood to the fire when I overheard a conversation among three of the boys.


“I wonder if there are any bears around,” Max commented, fear written on his face.


“You know, we’re animals, too,” Bradley said, stirring a stick through the dirt.


Max’s brother, Joey, jumped in, hands on hips, glaring at Bradley, “We are not!”



“Are too!”



Max rallied to his brother’s side, “We are not animals; we’re human beings!”



“Well, in school the teacher said that we are the highest form of animals,” Bradley insisted, to which Joey replied, “Well, this isn’t school, this is Bible land we’re standing on now!”



My Bible rested on the picnic table, so I said, “Well, let’s see what Genesis chapter one has to say. I read through the text detailing God’s creation and landed at verse 26, Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.’



The boys listened intently. I had caught them at a teachable moment. Explaining that man was set apart from the animals because he was created in the image of God with intellect, emotion, and will and given rule over the animals, I pointed the boys to God’s Word, the Truth.



I left that encounter more convinced of the need to ground our children in the truth of God’s Word to counter the secular, humanistic culture in which we live. Perhaps, as a Christian parent, you desire to do the same, but just don’t know where to begin.



A good resource is The Truth Project compiled by Focus on the Family and taught by Dr. Del Tackett. A DVD-based curriculum comprised of twelve one-hour lessons, The Truth Project communicates the Christian worldview verses a secular worldview. Carefully researched, biblically sound, and masterfully presented. Every parent should go through this course, then lead their children through it before they leave for college.



Visit www.thetruthproject.org for more information.

A DIVINE APPOINTMENT

A man wearing brown pants with beige dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, stocked the cracker shelves as I swerved around the corner with my grocery cart headed for the saltines.

“Hi, how are you today?” I said, sweeping past him.

“Good, how ‘bout you?” he countered with southern drawl while shoving a box of Ritz into an available spot. An overhead light beamed off the baseball-sized bald spot on the top of his head.

“Oh, fine, just fine.” I said, torn between scanning the shelves for my selection and exchanging cordialities.

Chattering on as if he hadn’t talked to anyone all day, he spoke of everything from the weather to his first grandchild due the end of October.

A bell sounded in my head. This was a topic near and dear to my heart, for my husband and I now had five grandchildren, the latest born in our home only weeks earlier, and the sixth on his way the beginning of October.

The man’s glasses slid down his nose as he reached to unpack another box. His wiry, sandy-colored hair stuck out over his forehead like a visor. Somewhat stocky, his belly loped over his belt when he squatted to straighten the cracker boxes on the bottom shelf. His daughter, only nineteen, would give birth to a son, he told me, lining up a row of Ritz like new army recruits.

“I was just getting used to the empty nest, and now this—I can hardly believe I’m going to be a grandfather.”

I had been where he was four years ago. With two weddings in one year and two babies the next, I was still gulping for air.

“I know what you mean,” I assured, lamely glancing at him one second and squinting at the saltines the next.

“But you have to let them go. You do the best you can raising them, then you just have to let them go,” he said, forcibly brushing his hands together to illustrate his words.

I inched my cart down the aisle, but paused out of politeness when he continued talking.

“I wonder, though, young people today probably won’t discipline their kids the way I was brought up. It was a trip to the woodshed for me. Yep, I learned a thing or two with the strap.”

Nodding, I assessed whether to stick around and humor this stock boy—well, man—with more of my presence or make my getaway.

Was this a divine appointment the Lord had placed in my way on this sunny September morn?

As we conversed more about the need for discipline in our culture, a story popped into my head.

“You know, you’re right, discipline is so important for children. I remember a speaker I listened to once share how he decided to teach his children a significant lesson after they had misbehaved one day.”

The man’s eyes flitted to my face as he reached for yet another large cardboard box full of crackers.

“The father told his two children to come into the bedroom. Once there, he pulled his shirt off, handed them each a leather belt, leaned over the mattress, and told them to whip his back with the belts.”

A whisper of a frown passed over the man’s face as he cocked his head to listen.

“Well, as you might expect, the children were totally confused. ‘Daddy,’ they said in unison, ‘why do you want us to spank you? We’re the ones who did wrong.’”

“‘Yes, you did wrong,’ the father stated, “’but I want you to whip me. I will take your punishment.’”

“’No, Daddy, we can’t let you do that!’”

“By now big crocodile tears were inching their way down the children’s cheeks.

“’Please, Daddy, we can’t do this!’

“The father insisted, and the children struck him with the belts, over and over again at his command. His back, layered with red stripes, pulsed with pain. His children dropped to the floor weeping uncontrollably.

“The father turned, stooped and stretched his arms around his broken children. ‘That, my children, is what Jesus did for us. He took the punishment that we deserve when He died on the cross.’

“The children never forgot their father’s lesson, nor did they ever require a spanking again.”

With eyebrows arched like Howdy-Dowdy, the man stood frozen for a second, “Yep, that’s a powerful lesson, all right.” Shaking his head, he retrieved more cracker boxes and resumed shelving.

“Well, you have a good day now; nice talking with you,” I said, gripping the cart handle.

“Yeah, you too. Have a good one.” He waved a hand, signaling the end of the conversation. Yet, something in his eyes indicated he would be thinking on our visit for some time to come.

Tell Me a Story, Grandma

While riding in the car the other day, granddaughter Kylie said, "Tell me a story about when you were little, Grandma." A frequent request by my grandchildren.

I proceeded to tell her the "sledding story."

One winter when the ground was covered with mounds of milky white snow, my neighbor, William, urged me to go sledding on Reservoir Hill with his buddy, Tommy. I agreed, and off the three of us trudged, William pulling a wooden sled behind him.

After we climbed the steep hill bordered on the left by barbwire fencing to keep the cattle on the other side from crossing, William looked at me with a gleam in his eye. An expression I had come to know as dangerous.

"Hey, I have an idea!" he said, flashing his pearly whites. "Since we only have one sled, how about all three of us go down on the sled together?"

It was more of a demand than a question, really. He was a take-charge kinda guy, and although I had definite reservations, his winsome way made it hard to refuse.

"Tell you what," he continued. "I'll get on the bottom; Tommy, you lie down in the middle; and Eileen, you stretch out on the top." We had played together for so long he knew I was ambivalent. "It'll be fun," he insisted with a nudge of his shoulder, hands in his pants pockets. "And, Eileen, you won't get hurt, 'cause you'll be on the top!"

I sucked in a breath of icy air, chewed on the corner of my lip, and finally agreed. What was the worst that could happen, after all?

I was about to find out. As we flew down the hill, William frantically clutched the rudder to maintain control while pieces of snow plastered our faces and hair. I opened my eyes long enough to see us inches away from the barbwire fence. Just as I squeezed my eyes shut again, William swerved the sled to the left, spilling me off the top and into a patch of melting snow mixed with mud.

As I stumbled to my feet, wiping my gloved hands over my brand new brown tweed Christmas coat, I glared at William. Sheepish, he shrugged, "I'm so sorry. Really sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm all right." Technically, that was true. No scrapes. No bruises. No broken bones. No barbwire marks anywhere on my anatomy.

My outer body was secure, but my spirit was considerably rumbled, for my brand new coat was a muddy mess! And it was my only coat. I could hear my mother now.

"What in the world have you done? Look at this mess! Why, I'll never get this clean!"

A gash somewhere on my body would have been better than a dirty coat. This was bad, and I prepared myself for the tongue-lashing I would receive when I got home.

At snail speed I crept to my house, gingerly stepped onto the breezeway, and reached for the kitchen doorknob. The door flew open and there on the other side stood my mother.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, fully expecting a maternal tirade followed by a paternal spanking that would warm my cold backside.

Instead, she gently nudged me inside the toasty, ginger cookie kitchen and helped me shrug off my brown tweed coat with the velvet collar.

She stepped back, turned her head from side to side, and frowned. "Hmm . . ."

Here it comes, I thought.

"I think we can take care of this. Why, I'll wash this up and it'll be good as new."

I believed her, 'cause mama had a knack at repairing, fixing, cleaning up, mending-- you name it, she could do it!

Next thing I knew, the brown tweed Christmas coat with the collar soft as puppy ears was hanging alone on the clothes line against the crisp snow, good as new.

When I finished the story, granddaughter Kylie piped up from the backseat. "Ya know, Grandma, your mommy sounds like Jesus."

I had never thought about that before. "Ya know, Kylie, you're right, she does."

And once again, a little child shall teach them.