Sabbatical Blessing

There is something perched in our garage that my three year old grandson describes as 'amazing'. It is a wooden houseboat, almost finished, in the process of being built by my husband. Eighteen feet long and six feet wide, complete with windows, decks, sleeping area, 'bathroom' and kitchen, she sits, waiting patiently for July, when she will float down the Erie Canal and take us away from the world until September.

This little life adventure will take place as part of my husband's sabbatical...a three month rest from pastoral duties, from which we hope to return physically refreshed and spiritually renewed.

And so last Sunday morning, at the close of the service, my husband and I were called forward in order to receive a blessing from the congregation as we begin our sabbatical journey. I knew that this had been planned. I thought it was a beautiful idea. But what I didn't know is that the hands that were laid upon us would belong, not to adults, but to children.

They came hesitantly, a little shy, unsure about placing their hands on us as we knelt. But as we encouraged them, they surrounded us with grins, and chubby fingers, and an air of innocence and spirituality that I have seldom felt before. To my left, a little boy lightly placed his hand on my shoulder, smiled shyly, and whispered our names as the pastor started to pray.

And as I knelt at that altar, listening to the pastor's words, surrounded by these little ones, I thought about Jesus, and how he wanted to be surrounded by little ones too. And I thought about his words, and wondered if, when Jesus said let the little children come to me, was it really so that he could bless them, or was it so that they could bless him?



David and Glenys,

May God, who is present in sunrise and nightfall,
and in the crossing of the sea,
guide your feet as you go.

May God, who is with you when you sit
and when you stand,
encompass you with love
and lead you by the hand.

May God, who knows your path
and the places where you rest,
be with you in your waiting,
be your good news for sharing,
and lead you in the way that is everlasting,
with fair winds and following seas.

Amen.

What's the Purpose?

So this is what I see outside my window this morning. My front deck is all newly painted. My purple pansies sit proudly in their pot. My perennials are making their appearance. The sun is shining and the birds are feeding.

But all this spring beauty is out shadowed by a million, annoying, little shriveled buds that are strewn absolutely everywhere I look. They insist on appearing every day, blown incessantly from the maple tree above and covering both front and back decks. There is no end to them.They are the sole reason why my broom perches permanently beside my front door.

But no matter how often I venture out to sweep these annoying buds away, they still manage to find their way into my home, where they are trodden underfoot, squashed into the rug, and scattered on the hardwood floors.

And yet without those annoying buds, I know that my maple tree would never blossom. If I found some way to remove this temporary annoyance I would never get to see those fantastic leaves that will turn a brilliant orange and red in the fall. And so I reluctantly have to admit that what is a problem now, does actually have a purpose.

And I know there's a life lesson in there somewhere, for me and my children. I just hope that I will remember it.

What is Your Explanation for the Resurrection?

Holy Land Visit, 2013

If Jesus' enemies had stolen his body, all they had to do to disprove the resurrection was to produce it.

If Jesus' friends had stolen his body, they would have been hunted down, arrested, and charged for the crime.

I am sitting in my last lecture at Bible Study Fellowship as my leader says these words. They make so much sense to me that I struggle to understand how anyone could disagree with them. No intelligent person with any knowledge of historical data could argue with the fact that Jesus Christ was a real, breathing, human being, who lived and walked the streets of Jerusalem 2,000 years ago.

And once we acknowledge that fact, how do we explain his resurrection? If this was a story made up by his disciples, why would they risk their lives to spread such an incredible, unbelievable, unimaginable lie? Why would Paul suffer beatings, and shipwreck, and imprisonment? Why would Peter ask to be crucified upside down? Why would Stephen choose to be stoned to death?

If I am one of the millions of Christians duped by an enormous lie, then so be it. But I am convinced, along with Paul, that the only plausible explanation of what happened on that Sunday morning so long ago was the impossible truth that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. No cave could contain him.

And if I believe this astonishing fact, then I must also believe that God has the power to do immeasurably more than all I could ask or imagine.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. What do you imagine for your children? When you close your eyes, what do you dream for them and their future? 

Be encouraged. God can do more.

A Temporary Landscape

Walking on Frozen Lake Michigan

On Wednesday morning I looked down through the window as the plane from Heathrow to Chicago brought me home. Thousands of feet below, light sparkled on Lake Michigan's blue waters, making it hard to believe that just one month ago, I was walking, along with hundreds of others, on her frozen surface, witnessing a landscape that was utterly amazing.

People had told me about the frozen waves. I could already see them in my mind- there would be hundreds of little frozen ripples on a flat sheet of ice and snow. But nothing could have been further from the truth. In fact, it felt more like traversing a mountain than a lake.

I stood, several hundred feet from the shore, beyond the end of the pier, where fish would normally be swimming in the deep, and surveyed this unbelievable landscape.

Huge rectangular blocks of ice had pushed their way up from the frozen depths, making mini-mountains on which people climbed and children slid. The lighthouse stood captive- totally engulfed in frozen fingers, like an alien from a horror movie.

For as far as the eye could see, the lake had become a mass of ice caves, boulders, deep caverns, pits, and ice platforms. People clambered to the highest points to capture the scene on camera. Because now, of course, it is all gone. Every peak and cave, every pit and platform-  forced to give way to warmth, and blue, and calm.

We walked a temporary landscape... just as we do every day of our lives.

But as we walk, wherever we look, Easter whispers hope. 

No matter how deep the snow, winter gives way to spring. No matter how cold the ground, earth gives way to flowers. No matter how bare the branches, frost gives way to buds.

And no matter how certain the grave, death gives way to life.

What a wonderful message for our children!

He is risen! Happy Easter!

The Gift

Last Sunday morning I had the privilege of standing side by side with my husband to offer bread and wine to our church family. I watched as they made their way toward the altar. A solemn, slow, reverent procession. Some looked at me and smiled, but most bowed their heads, respecting the mystery of the moment.

And then the children came. There was no stopping them. They almost ran down the aisle, eager to receive. I laughed as one little girl grabbed her bread and plunged it deep into the cup of juice, her chubby little fingers disappearing under purple. The cup overflowed. But she held on tight to the bread. It emerged, dripping and sodden, and she devoured it like candy.

And then there were the brothers. They came trotting down the aisle, smiling, holding hands with their dad. They reached with outstretched hands as I bent down with the plate of bread. And they grinned and looked me straight in the eye. I smiled, intrigued by a glimpse of red and silver, sparkling on the younger brother's shirt. What was that? This little guy was proudly wearing two shiny bows...the kind we might use to denote a precious gift.

And I wonder how different my experience of communion would be if I were to approach it like a child-

With outstretched hands; eager to receive; expecting my cup to overflow; ready not just to be a taker, but a giver.

To offer myself, at the altar, as a gift. 

The Lady Who Lived in Strawberry Cottage

She lived in Strawberry Cottage. And although that name sounds like it belongs on the pages of a Beatrix Potter book, Strawberry Cottage is a real place. And this is a true story.

Strawberry Cottage is a beautiful, old home, nestled among fields in the little village of UpHolland, in Northern England. I love UpHolland. I grew up there. At the back of Strawberry Cottage, I remember walking through the woods that she and her husband had bought, so that the tiny bluebells would be preserved. She never stepped on them. Because she was Linda.

Once a month, she would invite all of us Sunday school teachers to Strawberry Cottage. We would gather in her modest living room to plan our monthly lessons. And although she was the Sunday School Superintendent, she never frowned if we had not read through the material ahead of time. She would just smile; and laugh; and pour tea. She would offer us homemade treats; and understand that we had been too busy; and pray with us; and encourage us. Because she was Linda.

And when she first met my four rambunctious sons, who were usually bouncing off the Sunday school walls, and who generally put others off teaching for life, she just loved them. Because she was Linda.

Linda taught me more about how to appreciate and retain volunteers; how to teach; how to love children; and how to live a humble, gentle, grace filled life than any book, or seminar, or training event ever could. Not through words, but simply by who she was. Because she was Linda.

It is twelve years today since Linda smiled. Outside Strawberry Cottage hangs a sign that says 'For Sale.' But her legacy lives on. And if I can leave even half the legacy that she did, I will be happy.

Sunflower Dance

A sunflower at its very best,
near our chateau

This morning as I looked out at the four feet of snow piled high on my deck, I closed my eyes and dreamt about the summer of 2010, when I spent an unforgettable seven days in a gorgeous chateau in the south of France...


My family gathered, over thirty of us, to celebrate my brother's birthday. Every evening we would sit outside around a huge table, laden with crusty French bread, cheeses, and delicious food from the grill. We would talk and laugh the evening away as the sun went down over golden fields.

For as far as the eye could see, our villa was surrounded by masses and masses of yellow sunflowers. Every day, I would watch them as they swayed in the early morning light. Whenever the sun shined on them they turned their heads toward it, a splendid sea of golds and yellows- dancing at their very best.

But if, one day, the sun failed to shine, then the sunflowers failed to dance. Instead, they hung their heads, sad and despondent...utterly dependent on the sun, and quite miserable without it.
 
It made me think about all of us, who serve in ministry. Like that field of golden sunflowers, turning our heads upwards every morning, God shining on us, helping us dance, being the very best we can be.


May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Numbers 6:24

A Glimpse Into Godly Play...

I am sitting in a circle of children listening to the storyteller. She tells the story slowly, her eyes downward, focused on twelve little wooden characters as she moves them up the mountain. There is a lot of silence. The children listen. They watch, and they wonder. Wondering is a very real part of this environment, where biblical stories are retold, but not explained, and little minds are at work, making meaning out of mystery.

And as the storyteller asks the questions, the children know they do not have to answer ....because these are just things to ponder. There are no prizes to be earned for the correct response, no popcorn to be won, no gimmicks to entice involvement. Only the wondering...

I wonder how the twelve disciples feel being called to be with Jesus?

I wonder what they said when they told the news of the Kingdom of God?

I wonder how the people felt when they heard it?

And into the space and silence, a little boy ventures a one word response...

Happy

Mmm.. I wonder why they would feel happy? asks the storyteller.

Maybe because it's good news, he says, smiling.

And now it is my turn to wonder....how does he know that? How does one so young know that the kingdom of God is good news?
Unless, of course, the kingdom belongs to him?

And just like the upside down teachings of Jesus-  we who plan, and prepare our lessons so diligently, we who hold our 'learning objectives' like a measuring rod in our minds.....
must remember that when we set out to teach our children, it's actually they who end up teaching us. It is they who understand kingdom concepts better than we, even if they cannot put it into words.

And as a teacher, surely this is what I must strive towards-  to nurture that spirituality already present within the child; to value the pondering, the wondering, the space created by silence, and trust that God is at work in ways that can never be measured.

This is a hard approach for me, because it requires that I change.

But I know that in the upside down kingdom, I must change and become like a little child, in order to let the child teach me.

Learn about Godly Play

Practicing the Presence of God

I kneel beside my grandson as he stands mesmerized at the window in the early morning light. I have my arm around him as we watch snowflakes gently fall. Branches are bowed heavy. Sunshine glistens on the garden's white blanket and we see jewels sparkling here and there. We are peeking into winter's treasure chest - its lid opened wide outside our window. There is no sound except our voices.

Where's God? asks Xander.

God is in the trees. I say. God is in the stillness. God is in the snow. God is in the air. God is in the sunshine.

But where is God? he puzzles.

Well God is invisible, remember?

My grandson is still. He thinks. He watches snow fall. And then he turns to me and asks,

God is in the house?

I laugh as I scoop him into my arms and affirm, Yes, God is in the house. And God is in your heart too.

And the words of Jesus and Henri Nouwen and Sue Monk Kidd echo in my mind as they share the mystery and wonder we find when practicing the presence of God.

And I think about an autumn day when I raked leaves and my neighbor came to talk. And how the only thing I could think about as I leaned on my rake was that God was in my neighbor, and God was in the leaves, and God was in our conversation, and in our worries, and in our smiles, and in our time.

And I want every day to be like this snowy day. Or the day when I raked leaves in the autumn.


How do we cultivate practicing the presence of God with our children?

Children as Worship Leaders

I did something in church this morning that I have never done before. I received communion from a fourth grader. It touched by heart. 

This is the body of Christ, broken for you,
he said shyly, as he carefully lifted the plate of bread towards me.

I watched as he served his mom and dad, his little brother, his grandma, his friends, and their parents. Occasionally he looked up to the pastor just to make sure he was doing everything right. He was.

This ten year old boy- who could just as well have been at home playing video games- had already led us in the opening prayer; given out certificates to new members; welcomed them with a hand shake; read the passage of scripture from the Bible he was presented with in third grade, and helped the pastor prepare the elements for communion.

And as he took his place at this altar, next to candles, and choirs, and bread, and wine, where sermons have been preached for years and years, and babies have been baptized, and people have knelt before Christ-  I couldn't help but wonder how experiences like this would help to shape this young man's life, and to kindle a sense of the sacred in his soul.

And I couldn't help but wonder, as he held his third grade Bible and read,
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God....
if he knew that he was talking about himself.

How does your church intentionally engage children in leading worship?


 

What Do Your Children Take Away From Worship?

What is worship to you?
Why do you attend worship?

These were just two of the many questions that our pastor asked in church this morning as part of her challenging, thought provoking, and eloquent sermon. She had just finished explaining to our youngest children what frankincense was, as they gathered around the altar in the quietness, and smelled its sweetness, and watched as the smoke curled and climbed slowly up to the heavens.

Do we see the enormity of what we're doing here? She had asked the congregation later.

And I would guess that for most people, the answer to that would be no. After all, don't many of us come to worship because it is our weekly routine? For me, growing up as the daughter of a preacher, and then later being married to a pastor, attending worship every Sunday has been a weekly routine of mine all my life.

But while worship might sometimes be routine, it should never be mundane.
 
When we come to worship we choose to take our place in the ancient story that will reveal to us who we are, our pastor had said. Wow! You mean that I am part of God's ancient story? That I have a place at God's altar where incense rises like sweet perfume to God Almighty, the maker of the whole earth?

I do. You do. All of us have a place there. And so do each of our children. 

Let us never attend worship to be entertained. Let us never attend worship because it is our routine. Let's attend worship ready to meet with the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent maker of the universe, who has a purpose for each one of us and whose earnest desire is to send us out into the world to be a light to those who walk in darkness.

And this is my prayer, for the little ones we bring to worship each week...that they might have a glimpse of the enormity of what we really do when we gather together as God's family, and know, deep within their being, as I suspect our children did this morning when they watched that sweet perfume rise, that, in the words of our pastor,
worship is a moment in time, a gift of God's grace shared by God's beloved....
that they are indeed part of God's ancient story that will slowly but surely reveal to them who they are.

Is this part of what your children take away from worship each week? And if not, how can we make that happen?

Do You Have a New Year's Resolution?

I am riding on a Portland bus when a sign above catches my eye. In bold letters, I read: See Something? Say Something. This is not the first time I have seen this sign. I last saw it in the airport when traveling. It reminds me to be watchful, to remain vigilant, to notice anything suspicious, or out of the ordinary.   

But what would it be like if I tried to apply this principle in a positive way? What difference would it make if instead of spying out the suspicious, I were to look out for the lovely? Suppose I made an effort to be watchful, to be vigilant, to see all the wonderful things in the world- the things that really are out of the ordinary, if only I have time to notice them?

Like a single ray of sunshine shining down on me when no one else notices...

Or a mama who is simply in love with her baby...

Or a teacher who quietly inspires you to be your best...

Or a child who teaches you more about Jesus than you could ever teach him...

And what would happpen if, when I see all these things, I say something, like:

Thank you God, or 
What a great mom you are, or 
It is such a privilege to work alongside you or
Do you know what a precious gift you are to me?

And imagine what an impact we could make in the world if we all were to See Something and Say Something. Imagine what a difference your words would make in the life of a child, or a Sunday school teacher, or your family. 

Take this little resolution into the new year. Be watchful. Be vigilant. Be an encourager. And see what happens.





   

Have You Seen Undercover Boss?

A repost from December 2012...

With an audience averaging 17.7 million viewers, 'Undercover Boss' ranks as the biggest new season premiere since 1987 and the most watched premiere episode of any reality series.

Each week, 'Undercover Boss' follows a different executive as they leave the comfort of their office above to work alongside their employees below. This undercover mission allows them to share in the experiences of their employees and to obtain an up-close look at how their company works.

At the end of the week, the true identity of the boss is revealed, the employees are rewarded for their hard work, and the company celebrates as everyone benefits from the experience.

Over 2000 years ago, another 'Undercover Boss' left the comfort of an executive office above and came down to live amongst people on the earth below. With an audience of millions, the true identity of the boss was revealed and each Christmas, the world celebrates. 

What a privilege we have to be part of bringing children to discover the true identity of that 'Undercover Baby' and the eternal benefits He brings.

What is Your Reaction when Wished 'Happy Holidays'?

During the month of December for the past ten years a jolly light up Santa has been standing proudly on our front porch. But this year, we decided to upgrade to the Holy Family. We arranged Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus on the front lawn, tracked down our extension leads, and plugged them in. Beautiful!  The baby Jesus brought light to our neighborhood, which of course, is what Jesus always does.

My husband and I watched from the window as the children who live in the street came to admire the display. It gave us a good feeling to advertise the true meaning of Christmas.

But last week, when the heavy snows came, the baby Jesus disappeared, buried under a deep blanket of white.  And as I scraped away the snow to see his little face, it reminded me of all the ways we bury Jesus at Christmas.

Jesus is buried under all the tinsel and trimmings; hidden in the busyness of shopping; obscured by those who feel the need to wish me Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas.

But I am not worried by all of this. Instead, each day as I lift out the baby Jesus and place him on top of the snow where his light can be seen, it reminds me to elevate him to the place he belongs every day of my life- at the top of my to do list.

And to those who wish me Happy Holidays I do not frown. I smile, and say almost the same in reply. I wish them Happy Holydays, because 'holiday' is a compound word, derived from the two words 'holy' and 'day'.

And this is why I smile...because no matter how much we try to run from it, or how deep we try to bury the baby, Christmas is all about the birth of Christ, a true holy day. What a wonderful lesson to teach our children!

Happy Holydays!

Who Am I?

I remember well the day I got my glasses. I was only ten years old. And I wanted them. My mum and dad had them. My sisters had them. My brothers had them. I wanted them too.

Until I put them on and looked in the mirror. True, I could actually see, for the first time, but I suddenly became ugly. I gazed back in horror at this strange person who did not look at all like me and I knew that I would never have a good relationship with these thick, chunky, jam jar lenses that distorted my blue eyes, and made me look like some sort of alien.

And so for the next ten years, I stumbled around almost blind, but I refused to wear them. My glasses defined me. Every time I put them on, they spoke to me. Loudly. They told me who I was... ugly.

And although wisdom comes with age, so do wrinkles. And although my heart knows that I am not defined by what I wear, or what I weigh, or how I look, my mind still somehow listens to those voices of the world, who shout in that loud voice, and try to tell me who I am.

But when I focus instead on the Voice of the Word, I hear something entirely different, even though I have to really strain to hear those quiet whispers. 

When God talks to me, I hear,

I am God's beloved
God chose me
I am God's special treasure
I belong to God
God delights in me.


Now those are the things I want to hear. Those are the statements that define who I am. And those are what we need to teach our children, who are growing up in a world that threatens to devour them. And when I find myself worrying about that prospect, then I hear Jesus shout, not whisper:

Take heart! I have overcome the world!

Looking for Glow Worms

I am eight years old.
Night is falling.
And I am walking with my dad as I often do.

He holds my hand and makes up stories as I walk beside him along the country lane. We see a harvest moon overhead and he recites poetry as our feet step step through little puddles and splash the light.

This is England, and rain is a constant companion, even during the summer. We have at least two more miles to walk before we reach home. But the time will go fast because I am with my dad, and we are hunting, our eyes downward, our steps careful.

And if we keep looking, we see them hiding in the bushes, tiny magical lights that glow in the darkness, and will accompany us all the way home. We have found glow worms.

Almost four decades later I fly to the USA for the first time and I step outside the back door on a warm summer's evening and I cannot believe what I see. The entire back yard is filled with tiny twinkling lights, flying and flickering all around. I am amazed. I have never seen fireflies before. I feel like I am in a Disney movie. And my husband and our four sons watch them, utterly fascinated, for a long, long time.

Two years ago, I sit in a beautiful boat and I sail across water with my friends. The moon overhead is our guide and the stars our companions. We are night sailing, and it is breathtaking.

Just a few weeks ago I sit on the beach with more friends when the sun has gone down, and everyone else has left. And I think how sad it is that they have missed the best part. Because in the darkness I see the moon reflected and dancing on waves and stars appear from nowhere and lights from boats travel unaided as if suspended above water. 

And I think about all the beauty that is to be found when darkness falls...like fireworks, or constellations, or lightning, or fireflies, or tiny glow worms that accompany us all the way home...

And I want to be one of those lights that shine in the darkness for a child.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

Blue Toes

As I perch on the stool with my feet wrapped in soft towels, and feel the warmth from the hot rocks underneath, I decide to be bold and go with blue nail polish. And as I step out of the spa sporting my new blue toes, I am reminded of a post called 'Beautiful Feet', that I wrote while visiting England two years ago...

I stood, riveted to the spa window and could not believe what I saw. Three people sat, dangling their feet in a fish tank, whilst hundreds of tiny fish nibbled hungrily at the dead cells between their toes. An eye catching sign on the wall above boldly declared:

Fish are good for the soles. 

Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of fish pedicures- a beauty treatment that I, for one, will not be taking advantage of.
Besides not being thrilled at the thought of fish eating my feet, I have found a far more effective way of keeping them beautiful. Whenever my feet take me into my classroom or my community; whenever I can encourage a child, or show them they are loved; whenever I can lead by example, or inspire little ones to open up a Bible....whenever I can bring the Good News of the gospel to children, I have found the perfect pedicure. Friends, if you are serving in children's ministry, then you have beautiful feet too.
And it is good for our souls.

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring Good News. Isaiah 52:7

The Author's Signature

 

I stood, waiting, with over 200 others, as Khaled Hosseini made his way into the studio. I had never attended an author talk or book signing before. It was moving to hear this famous novelist read from his latest book and fascinating to listen as he described the writing process. Khaled talked about how, as he picked up his pen, his characters sometimes veered off in a direction not quite intended for them. But even though that happened, Khaled, as the author, always knew how the story would end. And word by word, page by page, chapter by chapter, everything fitted together and the story- his creation, was written.
When it was time for the book signing, I stood in turn and the author smiled as I stepped up to greet him. He turned to the title page, the very beginning of the story, and with a quick flourish, penned his name.
If God is the author of our story, I imagine that he pens his name at the very beginning of our lives, and quietly watches as our pages turn. And even though we may sometimes veer off in a direction not quite intended for us, God, the author and creator, always knows the ending...
and the best part is, that it is a happy one.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.
Hebrews 12:2

Sky Lanterns

At around 9.30 pm last Saturday evening, I was one of a crowd who gathered to release Sky Lanterns into the dark blue skies over Reed City, Michigan. More than a hundred of us, from babies to grandparents, craned our necks, amidst oohs and aahs, as these beautiful paper balloons filled with light and air, and lifted off to float high above the trees and out of sight. 
Sky lanterns make a magical display wherever they are released... but ours were special- because each one of these lanterns carried a prayer...prayers written from the heart, prayers that made their way to the heavens. And as they ascended, each prayer lantern followed the other, weaving and bobbing in a line, just as if they knew exactly where they were headed, carrying their petitions with purpose and grace. On one was written, 'family', penned carefully by a kindergartner. Another carried a picture of a pet fish that had died the year before, drawn by a little girl too young to write, but never too young to pray, and  never too little to understand that as our prayers go up, love itself comes down....

Piggy in the Middle

When I was at school, I hated playing Piggy in the Middle. I can remember making myself dizzy, spinning around in between my two friends, trying to intercept the ball. When we were young, none of my siblings ever wanted to take the middle seat in the back of our car. We were supposed to take it in turns to sit there...but my brother never would. He always stole the premier seat by the window. When we fly on an airplane, my husband rarely chooses the seat in the middle. He prefers to sit in the aisle, where there is more room for his long legs. Nobody likes being in the middle...we don't care to touch the person next to us or have our space invaded. The middle seat is the seat of inconvenience. But maybe it depends on who is sitting on either side of you.

The Psalmist knew a secret when he wrote, you hem me in. He knew the power of being able to imagine God sitting on either side of him and what a comfort, not an inconvenience that could be. And what a difference we could make in the lives of our children if we could teach them to remember that in any and every situation, God is hemming them in, on their right and their left, ahead of them and behind.

Because if God is sitting on either side of you, then that surely has to be the very best seat in the house.

 

Click here for a fun game to demonstrate how God hems us in.