My grandbuddies have a great time sitting at the little kid picnic table in my front yard watching all of the road construction.    We have had diggers, beeping trucks and now asphalt.   Lots and lots of beeping.

The boys can sit there for hours.  Just the boys and their juice boxes.    The boys wave to the construction workers and the men wave back.   I thought big, burly construction guys wouldn't have time for little kids.  Yet they all wave back.   Some toot the truck horns so the boys get excited.   It's thrilling.  (For them, not me.)   The boys want attention.

Some of the men say hi to the kids.  More waving.   Smiling when the boys scream out with delight and jump up at down at the loud noises the diggers make.   They think it's cool.    I think it's because construction guys get the whole "Little Boys like Heavy Machinery" thing.   And probably because many of them are dads.  And dads love kids.     

Kids were Jesus' favorite.   He loved it when they would come and gather around Him.  They wanted to get close.   And Jesus always had time.   Time to sit and talk.   To smile at their cute little faces.   To say hello.

I don't think kids have changed much in all these years.  They probably had things to say and many of them spoke at the same time.   They all wanted attention.

I wonder if people 2,000 years ago were surprised when Jesus stopped to smile and wave at their kids.   He was, after all, a very busy man.   Teaching and preaching.    

And yet Jesus had time for kids.   To hug them.  To bless them.   I'm sure it's because Jesus knows children are so precious. 


And Jesus loves kids.
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Matthew 19: 
13 Then little children were brought to Him that He might put His hands on them and pray, but the disciples rebuked them. 14 But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

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I have gone to two softball games this week and I have been keeping score.   Now, before you say something "I didn't know you knew how to keep score" I must point out I don't have a clue.   

I'm not really what you would call "sports-minded."   

The first night I kept score on the back of a bank deposit slip.  No one thought to bring a score pad.  Tonight I kept score on an official score keeper's page.   But I don't understand the lingo.

LOB -- I thought that was a tennis term.    I couldn't find anywhere on the page where you kept track of the defensive team, and I was really confused when I read I was supposed to keep track of something called a Put Out.   Isn't that golf?

ER, BB, SO, HB, BK, WP, TBF.... Really?   These are for softball?   It looks like some sort of code.   

So I made up my own system for scoring complete with happy faces and colored in diamond shapes.   It worked.  I ended up with the same score as the other team's score keeper.   I don't know why she kept shaking her head when she saw my deposit slip/record book.   She was probably regretting the fact that she didn't think of it first.

Confusing doesn't begin to cover it.  Which makes me think about the lingo we use when we talk about the things of God.   

Saved.   Born again.   Justified.   Sanctified.   And to someone who isn't familiar with the jargon, it gets a little abstract.   

Perhaps we need to go back to the way Jesus spoke.   He used words that were easy to understand.   Come.  Show love.  Repent.   Forgive.   Be forgiven.  Pretty easy to understand.    Forthright.   

We get so busy talking about things that seem natural to us that we forget our conversation is confusing to the newbie.   The casual observer.    And when someone is confused, they lose interest.

I don't want to be the reason someone loses interest in searching for God.  I don't want to make it seem harder than it really is.

Finding God is far easier than keeping score for softball.   But I'll learn how to do it.   Keep score, that is.   As soon as I figure out where to write down if someone double-dribbled.

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One particular Sunday will forever stick in my mind.  And my heart.  It happened almost 25 years ago, and it's important that I never forget.

I was teaching Sunday School for third and fourth graders on the very interesting curriculum of the judges of Israel.   The kids were bored to death.  Me, too.   That just seemed way over their heads and no one really cared.   So I ditched it.  (Shhhh, I still don't think the board knows I did that.  It's a secret.)

Instead, I felt I was supposed to talk about what it meant to pray.  Why we pray.   How to pray.   They seemed to pay some attention.  Some.   

Except for one girl.   She was greatly interested and she asked a lot of questions.   She was a guest with us that Sunday.

I asked her if she had ever asked Jesus to forgive her of her sins.  If she had ever told Jesus she wanted to called one of His kids.  She said she did.   So we prayed.

And she died tragically and unexpectedly the following Thursday.  But she died knowing Jesus loved her.   And He was at heaven's gates waiting for her when she arrived.

For those who think ministering to kids is boring.   Or a waste of time.   Or those who would rather be with their friends at the "grown up stuff."    This is a good lesson to remember.

We should never miss an opportunity to share Jesus even with little kids.   You just never know what tomorrow holds.

If God has you working with kids in any capacity, it could possibly be because He knows that you know how to share Jesus.   With kids.  And nothing is more important.
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I was holding my granddaughter today while she was sleeping.   I gazed at her precious little face.   Her tiny ears.   Her cute little cheeks.   She reminds me of her mom.

Babies grow so quickly.  This time won't last.   Soon she will be sitting, then crawling.   She will become even more adorable as she learns new tricks.   She reminds me of her cousins.

But I'm trying to hold on to what I have now.  An adorable, perfect baby.   Intricately woven together.  A wonderful blend of both mom and dad.   She reminds me of my kids.

I pray over this little punkin while she sleeps.   I pray for God's blessings on her.  I ask Him to give her talents which glorify Him.  I pray for her to be smart, but to always seek God and His wisdom.  

When I see her, I want to see what God's sees.   Potential for something great .  Someone who will grow to honor and love Him.   

No one knows exactly what Claire will become as she grows.   Except her Father in heaven.

I'm hoping as she grows up she will continue to be someone very special.  And that she will grow to remind me of her Father.   


Psalm 139:13-16  For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you,when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.
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My four-year old grandson told me zombies were going to come and eat my brains.   And not just my brains, but my head brains.   From the way he scrunched up his cute little face when he said "head brains" I knew it was a far worse plight than just my regular brains being eaten.    

I asked him what I could do about it to which he responded "Wear a hat."   

Well, that sounds simple enough.   And biblical, actually.

Ephesians 6 tells us of the armor we are to wear daily.  The belt of truth.  The breastplate of righteousness.   Add to that our feet prepared with readiness.   The helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit.  Use the shield of faith as often as necessary.   

Why?  Because the devil is a far worse adversary than any zombie because he is real.   Zombies are not.   And he loves nothing better than to throw fiery darts of worry, despair and hopelessness at your brains.   Your head brains.

Wear your helmet, or your "hat" so to speak.  It will protect you from all things evil.   

Even a four-year old knows that.
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I've heard people are watching things people search online.   If anyone is watching me, they are going to be confused.

In the past 36 hours I have searched a bunch of random, off-the-wall things.  I heard the Quran had a particular verse, so I looked it up.   And I looked up many verses on the Bible.   I did an online Bible study.   I looked to see if I really could download plans to make a 3D gun.  (I can.)   

I have also looked up a new recipe for meatloaf, directions for making trivets and instructions for making baby-size head bands.   I have searched toys for kids, ideas for shade gardens and read an article about Al-Jazeera.   And a recipe for chocolate chip cookies.   

I have checked the world-wide real time earthquake report and read obituaries from my home town newspaper.  I searched for a handgun, a Glock 26 actually.   And finished it up by watching youtubes of Moms who allow their children to become suicide bombers.

And then I played a game of Words with Friends.

It would be really difficult to profile me simply by the things I search.  I'm fairly random.   

And yet we do this all of the time.   We see one part of a person and immediately we label them.  We put them in a box.   And sometimes we won't let them out of that box.

We have made up our minds, don't confuse us with the facts.   

We have made up our minds about people and there's nothing that can be done about it.   Because we don't know the whole truth about people before we make up our minds.   

Wouldn't it be great if we decided to actually know people before we made up our minds about them?

It's just something I was thinking about.
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Happy Mother's Day to all of the Moms reading this.  

But this is really for Dads and their kids.  And by kids, I mean you have a mom.   You see, Moms think of their kids as their... well, kids... until the day they leave for heaven.

Your mom is your most valued asset.   There is no amount of money or other value you can give her.   It would always fall short.  

In the home, Dad puts his faith in her to manage the money, set the household appliances in motion doing what they do best.   He knows she has only the best in mind for their household.   Stretching dollars.  Pinching pennies.

She knows where to get the best deal on anything and everything.  She does comparison shopping online to save money when she can.  Money she knows enough to set aside for a rainy day.  

Mom is a busy gal.   She works in the garden.  Cleans the house.   She is good at delegating work to those who would rather watch television.   

She stays fit whether at the gym or making sure she eats right and takes a long, vigorous walk.    

Mom works into the night making sure the toys are picked up, the bills are paid.   She makes sure she has tomorrow's breakfast items in the fridge so her family can enjoy a good  breakfast before leaving home for the day.   

Her heart is tender.  She reaches out to the needy.  She helps when she can.   

Home is a great place.   It doesn't necessarily have to be decorated by Ethan Allan to be comfy.  As a matter of fact, the most comfortable homes are decorated in family-friendly furniture.   She goes to the craft store to make beautiful things to display.   Pics of her family may be found everywhere.   

She doesn't waste her day on the phone or going out for coffee, although those things are fun and are needful from time to time.   She doesn't talk for the sake of talking.  

Detective is one of her many roles when it comes to her family.  She guards them.  Watches out for them.   Makes sure they know the rules about curfews and such.  And from time to time must enforce them.  

Her kids don't think she's cool.  She wears Mom jeans.   But they respect her.   Because she's mom.   Her husband tells others he can trust her and that she's great.   He thinks she gets more beautiful with age.

She loves God.

You may have recognized this as a paraphrased Proverbs 31 woman, but I'm sure it applies to lots of Moms out there.

I know it applies to mine.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

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World Peace.    

Ben came into my house this morning wearing a jacket with a hood.   The jacket was designed to make him look like Scooby Doo.  Complete with ears.   

After he took off his jacket and got ready to eat breakfast he asked "Nana, did you know it was me?"   Yeah, I had a pretty good idea.   I would recognize that blonde head and cute face anywhere. Not even a Scooby jacket can hide it.   He's my grandbuddy even if he wants me to see him as someone else.

We try to change who we are sometimes by hiding behind masks.   Building facades to keep who we really are hidden from others.    We hide our insecurities, our frailties behind insurmountable walls made of sturdy stuff.  Nothing is going to bring those walls down.   We know the "me" we want people to see and we firmly establish ourselves behind that pretense.   

And yet...

We will never be able to hide who we are from the One who created us.   He put us together, person by person.   He knit us together with a unique combination of gifts, abilities, and a personality none can match.   No matter what walls we set in place, God will always know our innermost beings.   Flaws and all.  Yet loves us still.   We cannot hide who we are from Him because He would know us anywhere.   We are his.

I have grandma duty today which is one of my favorite things to do, so I'm going to end this.   Ben is here.  Or at least he was.   Right now, I have to do something about that pirate in my living room.
   




But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  (Isaiah 43:1)

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I re-watched "The Passion of the Christ" today on television.  The one done by Mel Gibson about ten years ago.  

I think it should be required viewing by Christians year after year.   Now, I'm not saying the theology it espouses is perfect.   There are some flaws, but then... it's Hollywood.   

As I was watching the part about Jesus being beaten, tears were streaming down my face.  After I while I just closed my eyes, although I could still hear the whips and moans.