By Joyce Suttin During the spring of my junior year in high school, some girls suggested we practice for the junior-senior basketball game, and I thought it might be fun, so I tagged along. I did poorly in practice, more focused on my friends than on the game; but despite getting on the nerves of some of the more competitive players, I decided that I would go through with what was going to be my one and only basketball game. Throughout the match, the seniors consistently held the lead, while my teammates were struggling. I had passed the ball a couple of times like a hot potato, happy to get it out of my hands as quickly as possible. Until… We were two points behind with seconds left in the game when one of my friends managed to intercept the ball. She tossed it as far as she could, and I realized with dismay that it was coming straight at me. I caught it easily, but now what? None of my teammates were near the basket. I must have appeared frozen in time, uncertain of what to do, when I saw the face of Stan, one of the athletic boys in my class, sitting in the front row in the crowd. He called out, “Just shoot the ball! You can do it!” I remember looking at the basket from my place at half court, taking aim, and shooting with all my might. What happened next is somewhat hazy. Somehow the ball miraculously swooshed into the basket at the last second, and we won the game! As everyone crowded around me during my moment of glory, my eyes searched the crowd for Stan. He finally came up to congratulate me, and I said, “Thanks, Stan, for showing confidence in me when I needed it. You were the one who thought I could do it, and I did.” We all need someone who spurs us on when the faces in the crowd are a blur, when the voices seem unintelligible, and our steps falter—someone like Stan to tell us to go for it when we are hesitant and unsure, to boost our confidence to try the impossible, to say “I know you can do it!” ***** Your children need to see that you want them to achieve, and that you believe that they can achieve. In their times of despair or heartbreak, they need you to show them that they can pick up the broken pieces and start again. They need to know that no matter how hard they may have fallen, or how many times they may have failed, they can stand up again. They need to know that they are winners, they are champions, and that you believe in them. There are many examples in history of people who did great things, became someone great, discovered something unknown, invented something ingenious, wrote something creative, sang something beautiful, inspired others, or helped to make the world a better place through their efforts—in great part due to the faith that someone had in them. The strength of faith and the belief that others had in them helped many of these great people to overcome what seemed to be impossible odds, opposition, danger, or difficulty. They might have ended up unheard of by the rest of the world if they hadn't been inspired to achieve, and as a result of that, pushed themselves to become more than they were. Many of these great men and women were thought to have had little or no potential to begin with. There have been cases of great teachers, scientists, and inventors who were thought to be below average intellectually as children. Some great athletes have been told that they were too sick, handicapped, or weak to qualify for even the first level of competition. There have been cases of great writers and speakers who could hardly articulate themselves when they first started. World-famous dancers, singers, and actors can remember being turned down at their first auditions due to "not having enough talent." There are many who failed and made countless mistakes, who showed promise and potential, but were disappointed over and over again—until finally, through the strength to persevere that was ignited in part by those who believed in them, they succeeded. Courtesy of Activated magazine and www.anchor.tfionline.com.
0 Comments
Judy Lyden Great Expectations. It’s a novel. It’s a story of human life that comes at you on many levels. It’s the story of love and appreciation, of work and of rising out of nothing into something. It has its nightmares and its problems, but it has its surprises, as well. Can we expect great things from our children or from one another? Does our culture allow us to demand great things anymore? Do we have a right to make a child behave or do his homework well or his chores regularly? I remember a very special group of nuns who loved the children in their care. When your ink blotted on your math paper, the expectation was to begin again. There was never a raised voice or a scolded child. It was simply expected, and everyone knew. You didn’t crumple your paper, because that was unladylike. You slipped your paper quietly into the trash can, and you began again silently. Ridiculous, you might think, but it taught us that everything we did mattered. If you carry that thought with you into adulthood, at the very least, the most insignificant things you do will be done well because they matter, from peeling an apple to the real matters of achievement, that of rearing a child. From what teachers see today, we expect virtually nothing, and then we whine when we get it. Children have a license to do nearly anything anytime without regard to anyone else, and we call this civilization. It isn’t. I always laugh when a parent tells me, “I couldn’t get him to do it.” “Really? What are your expectations?” Then they look at you as if a light bulb has gone off. Parents often forget who is in charge. Rarely do ineffective parents have expectations. The children of fruitless, hopeless sloth are not free. In fact, they are prisoners of horrible behavior, which is more emotionally confining than simple, kindly, agreeable behavior. When parents are not in charge and have no expectations, children suffer. In a classroom, the expectations move from parents to teachers. Teachers are supposed to back up parents and fill in for parents who are lax. They are supposed to be tough, caring, intelligent and filled with expectations for the kids in the room. I salute all of my children’s grade-school teachers because of their strong and decent influence. It starts at birth in the home when parents expect a good schedule for infants and toddlers. By 3 and the preschool years, a child’s behavior should be under control. He should have learned the hard lesson: how to listen. By 5, a child should be able to conduct himself like a gentleman and turn his listening skills into learning. Discipline today counts now as much as it did in the times of Great Expectations. Then as now, it should be a normal daily matter of attention to detail, and a conversion of manners, which means a gentle turning toward the best we can be from the inside out. Expect great things from a child, demand the world, and he will give it to you. Expect nothing and that will be yours also, and his. Taken from “Expect Great Things From a Child—He’ll Give it to You,” Scripps Howard News Service Dressing my three preschool sons alike seemed sensible at the time. It made clothes shopping easier, for one, and because they were brothers with similar builds and complexions, they looked good in the same clothes. At home it gave a sense of order, however superficial, to a household with three little boys in perpetual motion, and in public it showcased what I was sure was the most adorable set of kids ever. On a deeper level, it appealed to my sense of equity. I didn’t love one above the others, and had determined to never say or do anything that might cause them to think otherwise; I would treat them impartially in all things, big and small. But as soon as they got old enough to make more of their own choices, coordinated clothes were out. As their individual needs changed and became more diverse, I found I continually needed to adapt and change how I gave each one my love and support. I still didn’t love one more or less than the others, but I couldn’t always treat them the same. Now that those boys are grown men, in many respects they could hardly be more different from one another. My early attempts to establish uniformity now seem pure folly, and I thank God for giving each of them the sense to pursue his own interests, develop his own skills, and become his own person. Each probably has some things that he would like to change about himself—there’s always room for improvement—but I love them dearly just as they are. - Keith Phillips ***** Children remember things very clearly and are directly affected by their parents’ attitude and how their parents feel and think about them. So if you’re constantly speaking faith and positive things about your child, either to him or to others, and if you’re thinking positive things about your child, this will have a good, faith-building, positive effect on your child, and he’ll become more like what you think of him and expect from him. But if you are thinking or speaking negatively about your child, either directly or indirectly to him, it will have the effect of making him think negatively about himself and hinder his happiness and self-esteem, his performance, and the way he sees himself. Faith begets more faith; positive attitudes foster more positive attitudes in both yourself and those around you. It takes faith in someone to bring out the best in them. Your child is different from any other child in the world, just as you’re different from any other person in the world. You’re a unique parent, a unique person, and your child is unique. If your child doesn’t have a certain gift that you wish he had, it does not mean that he is inferior, or that he lacks quality or is missing something in his makeup or his mental functions or his ability to have a beautiful life and to be a beautiful person—and most important of all, to make a big difference and touch the life of others. It doesn’t mean that you’re failing as a parent and somehow not helping your child become whatever you think he should be. You’re not failing and your child is not failing. All children have some areas in which they shine. Courtesy of Activated Magazine and Anchor (www.anchor.tfionline.com). Used with permission.
By Dorcas God has given me 12 beautiful children—eight girls and four boys. When they were younger, I was so busy with their care; I barely had time to catch my breath. But now with all my children almost grown (the youngest is 14), I rely so much on their support and help. I spent one morning reflecting on this and feeling such gratitude for my children, and then I received a call from my third eldest. I began to relay my thankful thoughts to her when she said, “Mom, you need to tell your children these things. It would make them so happy to hear how much they mean to you.” I had just been thinking the same, and I agreed. My 12 children have—over the last 34 years—grown up in an instant. That is contradictory but true. And I am now realizing again and again what treasures my children are to me. All I can say is Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. I am thankful for my children, who have taught me so many of life’s important lessons. I am thankful for the children I still have with me. I am thankful for my children who have spread their wings and are no longer under my roof. I am thankful for the times they remember to call. I am thankful for how they still call me when something is troubling them. I am thankful for my grown children who came to visit me when I was hospitalized. I am thankful for how my children cried when I fell sick. I am thankful for the times when my children have made me laugh when I’ve needed encouragement. I am thankful for how not a birthday passes without one of my daughters baking a cake and serving a lovely birthday meal. I am thankful for how my children call me when my birthday nears, asking what they should get me as a present. I am thankful for the family photo album books that my eldest daughter prints and sends me at the end of every year. I am thankful for how my children cause me to appreciate a variety of personality traits and characteristics. I am thankful for the grandchildren who call me grandmother, and for my children who take care of my grandchildren so well. I am thankful for how my children listen when I am going through a trying time. I want to say to each of my children, “You are needed. I am thankful for you. You are wonderful.” I think there is nothing more fortunate than to feel that you are needed. But unless someone puts this into words, you might never know the place you fill in another’s life. So I decided to take a few moments to express my thankfulness for my children. And as I was doing so, my thoughts gradually turned to Jesus—the one most deserving of thanks. I wondered if I thank Him enough. My praises may not have been as abundant of late, and I wondered if that saddened Him. Of everything in my life, I am most thankful for Him. Because of Him I am able to love others. Because of the love He has given me, I desire to love others in the same way. I have heard it said that praise brings down God’s power, and I believe this to be true. And when one is tired, it is even more important to praise. The fact is, as I sat down to write this, I was feeling rather tired. But after I began to praise, I was strengthened. I started off writing about thankfulness, so naturally I can only end in praise. Article © The Family International. Image courtesy of photostock at FreeDigitalPhotos.net Jessica Roberts I’ve worked with young children for years, and I never cease to be amazed at their hunger for life, joy of discovery, and perseverance. Yes, perseverance. That may come as a new thought, considering small children’s notoriously short attention spans. (Any mother who has tried to get her toddler to sit still long enough to finish a meal can tell you about that.) There are moments in every young child’s life, though, when the inborn urge for development drives the child to learn a new skill, such as picking up a small object with chubby little fingers, or crawling, or walking. These new skills require a huge amount of concentration and effort on the part of the child and a great deal of time compared to his or her short life up to that point. They also put physical demands on muscles that are just beginning to learn coordination and are barely strong enough to sustain the child’s weight. When I recently moved to a new country, I went through a difficult time of adjustment. My friends and co-workers in my former situation had become like family. It hurt to leave them, and I especially missed teaching and helping to care for their kids. I tried my hand at new aspects of our volunteer work, but felt I wasn’t good at any of them. At one point, for example, I channeled my energy into a toy-and-book drive for needy children, but when it was slow taking off, I grew discouraged and felt like giving up. One day I was caring for a co-worker’s baby, Rafael. For as long as I had known him, Rafael had been trying to crawl. He would start by pushing himself up on shaky arms and eventually get up on all fours, but then he would get stuck. This went on for weeks. He would push himself up and rock back and forth on his pudgy hands and knees, but not make any forward progress. If a toy was just out of his reach, no matter how much he rocked on all fours or wiggled on his belly, he wouldn’t get any closer. He sometimes managed to scoot himself backwards, but that only moved him further from his goal. This day, after trying his hardest, he looked at me with “Pick me up!” written in frustration on his little features. I could sympathize, as I felt just as frustrated in my new situation. I knew, though, that all that struggling was strengthening his muscles and teaching him about his body. So I picked him up and cuddled and encouraged him a bit, but then put him back on the floor to try again. He would have to learn to crawl on his own; I couldn’t do it for him. Eventually he would grow stronger and get the hang of it. Suddenly I realized how much like Rafael I was. I’d been struggling, trying to learn new jobs, a new language, and about a new culture, and my natural reaction had been to look up to Jesus and say “Pick me up! Save me from this!” But He knows that this time of learning, difficult as it may be, will make me stronger. So even though His love is always there to cheer me on, I have to do the work. I have to persevere. That gave me a new outlook on my situation. If Rafael can keep it up, then I will too! And when I grow weary of trying or get frustrated from seemingly futile effort, I’ll go to Jesus for love, encouragement, and the strength to keep learning the lessons life brings my way. Rafael is now happily crawling and starting to pull himself up to stand. I’m also taking baby steps in learning new skills and broadening my horizons. I know we’ll both be up and running before long, if we just keep trying. Excerpted from Activated magazine. Used with permission.
By Peter Story
I listened to a song demo today. I’d heard plenty of them before, but this one sounded unusually rough. I tried not to let on that it grated on my nerves. My friend had warned me that it was a demo before he pressed the play button, but I still wasn’t quite prepared. I hoped he hadn’t noticed me cringe or squirm in my chair. After about a minute of private anguish, Jesus managed to get through to me. It’s just a demo, He spoke to my mind. I know, I replied, but it’s still difficult to listen to. You have to hear it as the musician hears it—as it will be, not as it is now. That’s an interesting way to look at it. Yes, and also the best way. It’s how I look at you, actually. Ouch! All right, I’ll give it a try. To my astonishment, it worked instantly. When I listened beyond the rough background noises, the missed beats, and the off-key notes, the song was actually quite good. The melody, it turned out, was beautiful and relaxing, and it fit the lyrics perfectly. I looked forward to the finished product, and I told my friend so. Throughout life, people make mistakes; they say or do some things wrong, and sometimes repeatedly or with disastrous results. That’s because we are all rough demos in God’s hands right now. There’s a lot about each of us that He still needs to fix, and it’s going to take time. When we can look at our children that way, when we try to see them not as they are, but as they will be, everyone wins. They have leeway to be less than perfect, learn by trial and error, and thus keep growing. The Love Catalyst Love is not blind; it has an extra spiritual eye that sees the good and possibilities that others cannot see.—David Brandt Berg Treat a man as if he already were what he potentially could be, and you make him what he should be.—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Everyone has good qualities. Find specific things about others that you can sincerely compliment them on, and be generous with your praise. If you can’t find anything right off, look deeper. Ask God to show you the positive qualities that must be there, because He sees things worth loving and praising in everyone. The harder it is to find that special something, the greater the reward is likely to be for both of you when you do. If you can find even a threadlike vein and shine a little love on it in the form of praise, it will lead you straight to the mother lode. Your children will open up to you, and you’ll discover lots of wonderful things about them.—Shannon Shayler By Misty Kay Research report Scientists have recently made a fascinating discovery about an unseen and little understood parasite, the negabugger—so called because of the negative effect it has on its human host’s mental and emotional well-being. It is too small to be seen by the naked eye, yet the symptoms of infection are plainly evident. It lives by attaching itself to the soft membrane of the inner ear. Its tiny buzzing wings vibrate at a frequency undetectable by humans, but which interferes with brain waves and leaves the victim feeling confused and depressed. These negative vibrations can be difficult to distinguish from one’s own thoughts, and the subject may easily be led to believe the buzz of negative self-talk. In more serious cases of infestation the negabugger can move into the brain of its host to lay its young, breeding thousands of little negabuggers that can quickly become airborne and infect others via negative words uttered by the host. The negabugger is a serious pest, and treatment should be administered at the first sign of contagion. The negabugger must be dislodged and shaken out of the victim’s ear. In standard cases, treatment can be self-administered by tilting the head in the direction of the negabugger and hopping vigorously while pounding the opposite side of the head. If it is unclear which ear the negabugger is residing in, apply this technique to both sides of the head to be safe. If more than one negabugger is present, it may be necessary to repeat the process. In extreme or stubborn cases, the victim may need assistance. If a bop on the head with a pillow fails to dislodge the parasite, it may be necessary to shock it out of hiding. A splash of cold water is nearly always effective. To prevent re-infection, place the subject under headphones and play uplifting music and inspirational readings. Also practice positive self-talk exercises with the subject. (Warning: Pillow and water treatments should only be administered by qualified adults. If children attempt these maneuvers, it may result in injury or damage to property.) Clinical study In a clinical study involving my children and young teenager, I have found the prescribed treatment to be quite effective in helping them pull out of bouts of self-pity and other negative emotions. For example, one day I entered the kitchen to find my then 13-year-old sobbing over a sink of dirty dishes. I sympathized, saying, “I am so sorry you’re not happy. I want you to know how much I love you. In fact, I love you so much that I have to do this. …” Producing a pillow from behind my back, I went to work. My daughter laughed and begged for mercy. Post-treatment, the patient appeared to have made a miraculous recovery. She returned to washing the dishes, but to my dismay she quickly relapsed. Time for step two. I went for the cold water. She saw it coming, but never thought I would really do it. After a brief chase around the house, I had her cornered and … splash! Even she thought that was funny. A few rounds of laughs, and the dishes were almost done. As the mother of an emotional teen girl, I have spent many hours reasoning, cajoling, comforting, and praying in various attempts to pull her out of her hormonal bouts of gloom, but lately I have found the negabugger treatment to be even more effective and faster working. Once the negabugger’s unsuspecting targets are made aware of the danger, they can learn to recognize and take steps to protect themselves from it by not entertaining negative or destructive self-talk. An ounce of awareness is worth a pound of cure. Beware of the negabugger! Article courtesy of Activated magazine. Image by David Castillo Dominici/FreeDigitalPhotos.net She must have been six years old, this beautiful brown-haired, freckled-faced image of innocence. Her mom had on a pair of tan shorts and a light blue knit shirt, with sneakers. She looked like a mom.
It was pouring outside—the kind of rain that gushes over the tops of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. Drains in the nearby parking lot were filled to capacity or blocked. Huge puddles formed lakes around parked cars. We all stood there under the awning or just inside the door of the store. We waited—some patiently, others aggravated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running and splashing so carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day. Her voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in. “Mom, let’s run through the rain,” she said. “What?” Mom asked. “Let’s run through the rain!” she repeated. “No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit,” Mom replied. This young child waited about another minute and repeated her statement. “Mom, let’s run through the rain.” “We’ll get soaked if we do,” Mom said. “No, we won’t, Mom. That’s not what you said this morning,” the young girl said as she tugged at her mom’s arm. “This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?” “Don’t you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, ‘If God can get us through this, He can get us through anything!’” The entire crowd became dead silent. You couldn’t hear anything but the rain. We all stood quietly. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold the child for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith. “Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If God lets us get wet, well, maybe we just needed washing,” Mom said. Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few believers who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars, perhaps inspired by their faith and trust. I want to believe that somewhere down the road in life, that mom will find herself reflecting back on moments they spent together, captured like pictures in the scrapbook of her cherished memories—the two of them running through the rain, believing that God would get them through. And yes, I ran too. I got wet. I needed washing. —Author unknown Image courtesy of Clare Bloomfield at FreeDigitalPhotos.net Taken from Mr. Washington, by Les Brown
One day in 11th grade, I went into a classroom to wait for a friend of mine. When I went into the room, the teacher, Mr. Washington, suddenly appeared and asked me to go to the board to write something, to work something out. I told him that I couldn’t do it. And he said, Why not? I said, Because I’m not one of your students. He said, It doesn’t matter. Go to the board anyhow. I said, I can’t do that. He said, Why not? And I paused because I was somewhat embarrassed. I said, Because I’m Educable Mentally Retarded. He came from behind his desk and he looked at me and he said, Don’t ever say that again. Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality. It was a very liberating moment for me. On one hand, I was humiliated because the other students laughed at me. They knew that I was in Special Education. But on the other hand, I was liberated because he began to bring to my attention that I did not have to live within the context of what another person’s view of me was. And so Mr. Washington became my mentor. Prior to this experience, I had failed twice in school. I was identified as Educable Mentally Retarded in the fifth grade, was put back from the fifth grade into the fourth grade, and failed again when I was in the eighth grade. So this person, Mr. Washington, made a dramatic difference in my life. I always say that he operates in the consciousness of Goethe, who said, Look at a man the way that he is, and he only becomes worse. But look at him as if he were what he could be, and then he becomes what he should be. Mr. Washington believed that Nobody rises to low expectations. This man always gave students the feeling that he had high expectations for them and we strove--all of the students strove—to live up to what those expectations were. One day, when I was still a junior, I heard him giving a speech to some graduating seniors. He said to them, You have greatness within you. You have something special. If just one of you can get a glimpse of a larger vision of yourself, of who you really are, of what it is you bring to the planet, of your special- ness, then in a historical context, the world will never be the same again. You can make your parents proud. You can make your school proud. You can make your community proud. You can touch millions of people’s lives. He was talking to the seniors, but it seemed like that speech was for me. I remember when they gave him a standing ovation. Afterwards, I caught up to him in the parking lot and I said, Mr. Washington, do you remember me? I was in the auditorium when you were talking to the seniors. He said, What were you doing there? You are a junior. I said, I know. But that speech you were giving, I heard your voice coming through the auditorium doors. That speech was for me, sir. You said they had greatness within them. I was in that auditorium. Is there greatness within me, sir? He said, Yes, Mr. Brown. But what about the fact that I failed English and math and history, and I’m going to have to go to summer school? What about that, sir? I’m slower than most kids. I’m not as smart as my brother or my sister who’s going to the University of Miami. It doesn’t matter. It just means that you have to work harder. Your grades don’t determine who you are or what you can produce in your life. I want to buy my mother a home. It’s possible, Mr. Brown. You can do that. And he turned to walk away again. Mr. Washington? What do you want now? Uh, I’m the one, sir. You remember me—remember my name. One day you’re gonna hear it. I’m gonna make you proud. I’m the one, sir. School was a real struggle for me. I was passed from one grade to another because I was not a bad kid. I was a nice kid; I was a fun kid. I made people laugh. I was polite. I was respectful. So teachers would pass me on, which was not helpful to me. But Mr. Washington made demands on me. He made me accountable. But he enabled me to believe that I could handle it, that I could do it. He became my instructor my senior year, even though I was Special Education. Normally, Special Ed students don’t take Speech and Drama, but they made special provisions for me to be with him. The principal realized the kind of bonding that had taken place and the impact that he’d made on me, because I had begun to do well academically. For the first time in my life I made the honor roll. I wanted to travel on a trip with the drama department and you had to be on the honor roll in order to make the trip out of town. That was a miracle for me! Mr. Washington restructured my own picture of who I am. He gave me a larger vision of myself, beyond my mental conditioning and my circumstances. Years later, I produced five specials that appeared on public television. I had some friends call him when my program, You Deserve, was on the educational television channel in Miami. I was sitting by the phone waiting when he called me in Detroit. He said, May I speak to Mr. Brown, please? Who’s calling? You know who’s calling. Oh, Mr. Washington, it’s you. You were the one, weren’t you? Yes, sir, I was. By Jessica Roberts It’s the end of a long day of caring for sick children. No, not my own. They belong to a couple whose job often calls them away to tend to others’ needs at the sacrifice of some of their time together as a family. I am the children’s teacher, and I usually enjoy being a substitute parent, but not this week. “I’m feeling overtired, run down, and stressed,” I grumble. “I’m way behind on the dishes and laundry, and I’m missing a beach trip with my friends to instead take care of a bunch of coughing, sniffling, whiny kids. The kids are having their midday nap, and my day still stretches before me. I haven’t had enough sleep or fresh air for days now. I’m not meant do this. I’m not their mother. Mothers have the patience, the selflessness, the unconditional love for their children to put up with all this! Not me. These kids are driving me crazy!” A creak on the stairs tells me somebody’s awake. It’s two-year-old Susy. “What do you need, Susana?” She pauses for half a second, then runs to me, throws her little arms around my neck, and whispers, “I love you!” Then she turns and runs back to bed. I hear four-year-old Martin stirring, so I go to check on him. He opens one eye and mumbles sleepily, “You’re the bestest teacher ever!” Something about the way he smiles when he says that… I think about their pure-hearted love and how they’ve adopted me. I remember all the laughs, the hugs, the discoveries we’ve shared. Suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. I remember what Jesus said about loving the little people, “Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me” (Matthew 25:40). We’re going to have our best day yet! I’m sure there is a way to build a three-ring circus in the sick room. And when they reach that tired, grumpy hour before dinner, I’ll just shoot up a prayer and ask for some of the Lord’s unconditional love. And I’ll thank God for the blessing of having these kids to care for. © The Family International
|
Categories
All
Archives
March 2024
LinksFree Children's Stories |