Faith & Family

“Did he do that for me?” asked five-year-old little Dawson, raising his eyebrows.

I am a stepmom, or a bonus mom as we affectionately prefer to say. Dawson is not my son or stepson. Rather, he is the brother of my bonus daughters and has a set of eyebrows that speak volumes. Our family is blessed to have a beautiful co-parenting relationship, and both my husband’s ex-wife and I interact with all the children from our various families.

On this particular day, Dawson and I went for ice cream and to wait for his mom so we could switch out children. “The Commission” by Cain was playing on the radio when the Spirit moved the biggest blue eyes on a weekday afternoon in the middle of mundane blended-parent life.

I explained to Dawson that, yes, Christ did do that for him. The wonder on his face broke my heart and filled it simultaneously. He asked a few more questions, and I asked if he knew Jesus. He assured me he did.

By the time his mom came, I had tears in my eyes. The magnitude of Jesus’ sacrifice hit me. As Dawson and I conversed, I saw Jesus hanging on the cross. I viewed the nails ripping into His skin and the sinful weight of the world weighing on His shoulders. I felt His forgiveness and love wash over me as I sat in the grocery store parking lot, exhausted from a typical day. I thought about how Jesus leaves the ninety-nine to find the one. His love, a love that pursues, is bigger than our comprehension—yet simple enough for little ones to understand.

With the chaos of adulthood, we often miss the mark. Jesus said we should have a childlike faith. How different would life be if we only rested in a faith like Dawson’s? What if we did not question every obstacle or try to fix every problem ourselves? If only we would rest in God’s love for us. If only we could sit with Jesus for a while and go to Him as a little child. After all, he is our Father.

Find ways to sit with your heavenly Father daily and reflect on His love for you.  

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but names will never hurt you.

As a young and naïve child, I heard that expression and believed it was true. After all, people told me derogatory names or words couldn’t physically hurt me. Nonetheless, after repeatedly being called egghead, C (because of my poor posture), and dumb blonde—not to mention being ostracized for my lack of makeup and criticized for what I did or didn’t do—I found it difficult to neglect the pain.

Toxic words wounded me psychologically and emotionally, and I developed a negative self-image. The damage was as bad as a physical blow. Soon, I believed I was unaccepted, unworthy, and unloved for who I was. Essentially, others’ words formed my identity.

I praise God for His life-changing truth in the Bible. After becoming God’s child as an adult, I realized I no longer had the false identity given to me by people’s words. Instead, God gave me my identity. According to God’s Word, I am deeply loved, completely forgiven, accepted, and complete in Christ.

Ask God to help you realize the power of your tongue. Use it to build others up, not tear them down. God can help you recognize the poison in your tongue and how to speak only what is pleasing to Him. And remember, your identity comes from God, not what others say about you.

Long ago, deep in the last century, I was a Boy Scout. This was back when being a Boy Scout meant learning something useful. Studying practical skills like walking into the woods with just a pocketknife and not starving or dying of hypothermia. It also meant embodying the Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared," which basically meant learning how to not find yourself in the position of walking into the woods with just a pocketknife to survive.

I loved my time as a Boy Scout. During those years, every summer, my parents would ship me off for two weeks to the Western North Carolina Boy Scout Camp at Raven Knob, about fifteen miles west of Mt Airy, NC. This was where most scouts worked on merit badges, usually testing for five to ten badges each session. On one summer visit to Raven Knob, my third, I was going for one of the most coveted badges: camping.

There wasn't time in just two weeks to teach all a scout needed to know about camping to obtain the badge. A scout was expected to know how to survive in the woods before he got to Raven Knob. Because back then, to pass the Camping Merit Badge requirements, they simply handed you a topographical map and a compass, told you where on the map to make camp, had you shoulder a pack, and told you to report back in three days. And off you went. No GPS, no cell phone, and no alert necklace … you were on your own.

My pack was checked by counselors and passed muster before I departed. I think they wanted to ensure I remembered to pack food and didn't forget my tent. One of the most necessary items in my pack was my well-worn copy of the Boy Scout Fieldbook. (All these years later, it’s still one of the best outdoor books I've ever read.) I had read it cover to cover, and I knew if I got stuck on something, the Fieldbook would bail me out. And boy, did it. I referred to it over and over when setting up my camp. Eventually, most of this would be second nature, but for this trip I didn't yet have enough experience. I did have the Fieldbook, and that proved to be enough. I earned my Camping Merit Badge.

Surviving in this fallen world is much more terrifying than stepping off into the woods on a solo camping trip. Fortunately, our loving Father has provided us with our own "Fieldbook" to sustain us—a step-by-step survival guide. He has given us His glorious Word, voice, and loving instruction—all to help us weather this world. God implores us to immerse ourselves in the Bible, to meditate on what it says, and to plant His Word in our hearts.

It isn’t always easy. Satan attacks the Word and my ingesting of it every chance he gets. But I have to constantly remind myself—and this might help you as well—that when the Great King of all the Universe gives us His survival guide, it's probably an excellent idea to read it.

Are you prepared?

Just finished the lawn—yet again. Mowing is a bit tedious, so I’m trying to get the roar out of my ears by replacing it with a friend’s organ music on YouTube. In the meantime, I stumbled on a choir singing “It is Well with My Soul.” I love that song.

One of the things I liked best about being a youth director was taking the youth to concerts like Winter Jam. We could enjoy about a dozen popular bands for ten dollars, some with great special effects. Disney’s Night of Joy and Universal’s Rock the Universe were also safe places to take a youth group.

Youth for Christ once had an event called DC/LA. I attended twice, once in Washington, DC, and once in Cincinnati, Ohio. In Cincinnati we had our picture taken with David Crowder.

The main reason I took my youth to events like these—along with mission trips, prayer walks, community service events, and Bible studies on top of mountains—is the hope that they would fall in love with the Lord. There is so much negativity and temptation in the world. Without someone caring and leading young people to Christ, they might never know Jesus or appreciate all He has done for us.

Think of the sacrifices the apostles and other missionary types have given over the centuries to reach the lost—from giving up a normal family life to giving up their very lives. The small things many church workers have given up pale in comparison to the martyrs of the faith.

I often think of what I have done for the gospel’s sake, but I also think about how often I have let the Lord down by not accomplishing all I could have and still shy away from. We should want to please God. Unfortunately, we often only try to please Him if it pleases us.

Be both a hearer and doer of God’s Word. Be purely devoted to Him. Let God stretch your faith. It is that important.

“Can I have a cookie?”

“May I have a cookie?” she corrected. “Yes, dear, but only one.”

We knew right where they were. On the bottom shelf of Grandma’s free-standing cupboard in the kitchen, in a chipped, enamelware tin, we’d find them. Most often, they were the simple, store-bought variety, and (wise Grandma) so difficult to sneak, with the metal lid clanging as we’d reach in to take one.

Though not homemade, Grandma’s cookies were delicious, especially when washed down with cold milk. Over the years, no matter how much my sister and I grew, blossoming from little girls to young women, we could count on cookies in that simple-though-sturdy tin.

And in a world with so much change, such was a reassurance. After all, though its outward appearance wasn’t special, Grandma’s cookie box held promise. What was on the inside mattered most. Much like Grandma. With only an eighth-grade education, my father’s mother—this petite woman wearing handmade dresses, dark stockings, and braided hair in a bun—was wise.

Was it the decades she’d lived? The numerous books she’d read? Perhaps. But more, I believe her wisdom was the result of many hours in prayer and a daily diet of God’s Word, which she applied to real life once she’d risen from her knees.

Just like her enamelware cookie box, Grandma’s outward appearance wasn’t perfect or fancy in any way, but inside, she held a promise. The one who was faithful to fulfill His promises was home in her wise, though childlike heart.

Similar to the Proverbs 31 woman, the one we often read about, then wonder, How can I measure up—tending to the many needs of others while managing the affairs of my own family?

The secret? Like her, it’s in our reverence for and worship of the Lord.

And that, friends, makes the difference. In our worship and reverence, we can each offer the world the promise of our Savior.

Are you sharing what matters most with the world? If not, think of something you can change.