... name?" Several more children acknowledge this experience. "How did that make you feel?" I question. "Like I wasn't very important ..." "Like they didn't recognize me ..." "Like they didn't care about me ..." "And how do you feel when someone remembers your name?" I continue. "Good!" "Yes, it feels good to have someone remember our name, doesn't it? Our names give us identity. Our names tell us we are somebody; we exist. "Did you know that God knows the name of every one of you?" This brings everything from ...
... too big to be a penny," one child says. "You're right," I tell him. "Perhaps it's a dime. It's got this big number 10 on one side." Again I hold it up for the children, then have them pass it around for a closer look as we continue. "No, it's too big to be a dime," a girl declares. "And it's the wrong color," another adds. "Well, gee," I answer, "do you suppose it's not an American coin at all? Could it be from another country?" The children agree that it must be since it ...
... don't know how to listen. Maybe God is answering in a way we can't hear with our ears. Maybe we need to listen with our other senses. Have you ever listened with your eyes?" This suggestion elicits giggles from the assembled children. "That may sound silly," I continue, "but I had an experience like that just last month. I was sitting at the edge of some woods listening for God. I had already done my talking. I had asked God to help me with something I had to do that seemed absolutely impossible. Now I was ...
... be free?" I ask. "Does it mean you can do anything you want to do?" Some of the children look puzzled; one starts to nod affirmatively; most of them shake their heads to indicate "No." "No, being free doesn't mean doing anything you want to do," I continue. "That would be a mess and make it pretty hard to live with each other. But being free does mean having a voice in what happens and having some choice about our actions. "Even in the United States of America everyone has not always been free. Our country ...
... of things near and dear to a child's heart, and indeed they had noticed. "My goodness!" I exclaim in mock surprise. "It sounds like someone has decorated for a party! Does anyone know why we would be having a party today?" This question stumps them, so I continue. "Today is a special day in the church. It is called 'Pentecost.' " To get them used to this word that even the older children have heard only a few times in their lives, I ask them to say it with me. "Pentecost ... So now you're probably wondering ...
... is not enough for some folks and too much for others? Is there anything else that goes too fast for some people and too slowly for others?" The children think for a moment. Then with a triumphant look Jeff exclaims, "Time!" "You guessed it, Jeff," I continue. "That's what these children were talking about. And it seems like an appropriate thing to discuss here at the beginning of a brand-new year. What are some of the ways in which we measure time?" "With a watch," Beth offers. I agree, noting that ...
Object: The children themselves. Lesson: Love; children; parents; God. "I asked all of you to come up here for the children's sermon -- so I guess all of you are children, right?" The youngsters readily agree. "Am I a child?" I continue. "No!" comes the immediate response. "Well, then, perhaps I don't belong up here. Maybe I'd better leave ..." As I begin to get up, I get a thoughtful expression, and stop in mid-motion. "No, wait a minute," I say to the children, "I'd like to talk about ...
... have a piggy bank?" "I do! I do!" one child eagerly replies. "Is your bank shaped like a pig?" "No, it's an army tank," he tells me. (One never knows what is going to come out of one of these conversations with children!) "I see," I respond, trying to continue my thought as a part of my brain takes off pondering the pros and cons of giving a child a bank shaped like a tank. "Well, my bank is shaped like a pig and I got 52 more pennies out of it so I would have a total of 100 ...
... answer by our actions. There is a song about that. It asks us to walk hand-in-hand with each other -- to show our love for each other -- so people will know we are Christians, by our love for one another.1 "Do any of you know that song?" I continue. Most of the children nod affirmation so I ask them and the congregation to sing it with me. After the song, I add this thought: "They'll know we are Christians by our love ... That's how the world will know we are Christians. That's how the world knows ...
... any of you ever gone to look for a job?" I ask the assembled children. My question brings looks of surprise to their faces, along with soft chuckles from the congregation. "Probably none of you is old enough yet to have gone job hunting," I continue. "But I was looking through the 'Help Wanted' advertisements in the newspaper the other day and decided to circle all the jobs that said, 'Experience required.' "I hold up the results of my work; the children note that nearly everything on the two exposed pages ...
... , right in this spot, and didn't catch anything. But since you say to do it again, we will.' So, one more time they let their nets down, and guess what happened? They caught a LOT of fish!" ("Catfish!" Andrew interjects, eliciting laughter from us all. Then I continue.) "In fact, they caught so many fish that the nets started to break and tear apart. The fish were so heavy and there were so many of them that the boats began to sink! They had caught a LOT of fish! Now why did they catch so many?" "Because ...
... another question for you. Who here has ever made a snow fort?" Several hands, all belonging to boys, shoot up. I find myself wondering if I'm the only girl who ever did that sort of thing. "Making a snow fort is a lot of work, isn't it?" I continue. The children who are experienced in the fine art of snow fort-making agree. "Well, then, why do you go to all that trouble?" I ask. "So we can play in them ..." "... and have snowball fights!" "You're telling me that you do all that work so you can FIGHT ...
... '?" "There's another word that means close to the same thing which I'm sure all of you know: 'rag.' Where do we get rags?" "You buy them!" Having just talked about going to the remnant table at the fabric store, I should have seen this coming. "Well, yes," I continue. "Rags can be bought. But where else might we get rags? What happens when you get a hole in your sock? Do you fix it?" "No! It gets thrown away!" "But if you didn't throw it away, you'd have a rag, wouldn't you? If we tear a ...
... can help me figure this out. Is today any sort of holiday?" "Yes," the children reply, "it's Father's Day." "Oh, that's right. Now I remember. That's why I brought the rabbit." This elicits looks ranging from surprise to consternation. "I guess I'd better explain," I continue. "When I was in the second grade, my father, who was in the army, got sent to a place called Korea. He was gone for a whole year and I missed him very much. "But that still doesn't explain why I brought this rabbit. Let's see ... I'd ...
... difference between you and this wooden cow?" "We're alive!" Patrick responds with assurance. "Oh! So you are," I agree, "and this wooden cow is not. Do you think God made this cow?" "No," several children answer. "Well then, who did?" "A person," John replies. "Yes," I continue, "a person did make it. And that's why there is such a big difference between it and all of you. Because GOD made you, AND gave you life. Only God can create and give life. "The problem with idols is they are not alive. They cannot ...
... it had been found, it was still lost. Then the combination of 'lost and found' at last began to make sense. "Have any of you ever gotten lost in a department store or a grocery store?" Once again, several hands go up. Acknowledging their responses with a nod, I continue. "It's a frightening experience, isn't it? I used to be afraid that I might get lost like that when I was your age. I knew if I did, someone would eventually take me to the store's office. Then the store manager would use a microphone to ...
... in the water. They have to cut trees down -- with their teeth! Is that how you would cut a tree down?" "Of course not!" several children answer, giggling. "I'd use a saw ..." "I'd use an ax ..." "Yes, a person would use tools to cut down a tree," I continue. "But beavers, like Buckley here, use the cutting tools they were born with -- their teeth. It seems to me it would be very tiring to cut down a tree with your teeth -- even if you had teeth that were made for the job. Then imagine the work involved in ...
... is scary for us because we don't know what will happen; we don't know what to expect. How many of you are going to go to school on Tuesday?" Many hands go up in reply. "Are any of you going to school for the very first time?" I continue. Two children raise their hands. "Wow! That's a big change for you!" I note. "And, the rest of you who are going back to school, I suppose you're going to return to the same grade as last year?" "Of course not!" Mike snickers. "Well, what if you did ...
... not lighted. We have it plugged in ..." "You have to turn it on," Terry notes with a hint of exasperation at my obvious lack of electrical expertise. As if to underline his opinion of my prowess, he reaches for the switch and turns on the light. "Thank you, Terry," I continue, suggesting with a gentle shake of my head that he NOT shine the lamp in the faces of his companions. "What you've shown us is that just having a source of power is not enough; we also have to turn the switch on so the lamp can receive ...
... drawings of the stomach on posters at my doctor's office. I knew it had to be at least as big as my fist. Both of my eyes put together weren't that big. 'What in the world could my parents mean?' I wondered. But as I got older and continued to hear it, I learned that my eyes could see more than my stomach could hold. My parents wanted me to be careful not to take more food than I could eat. Finally I understood what it meant to have eyes bigger than my stomach. "In a few minutes our ...
... it's only been a couple of weeks since Easter. What happened to Jesus on the Friday before Easter?" "He was crucified," replies one of the older girls with a note of sadness. "How do you suppose the disciples felt when Jesus died?" I continue. "Pretty bad..." "Afraid ..." "Awful ..." "Alone ..." "Hurt ..." "Yes, I expect they felt all of those things, and maybe just a little bit angry too. Because Jesus had been their teacher, their leader, their best friend -- and now he was dead! "But Jesus came back didn ...
... present said that they felt their spiritual lives were inadequate. In one sense, it is troublesome to think of spiritual leaders who feel spiritually inadequate. But being able to admit you are poor in spirit is a blessing. Billy Graham's biographer notes the quality of a "continuing sense of inadequacy" and dependence on God as a key to Graham's success. Billy once said, "The Lord had always arranged my life so that I have had to keep dependent on Him. Over and over again I went to my knees and asked the ...
... they that share their neighbor's pain and who mourn their pain as Jesus did, weeping over the sins of Jerusalem. We all know people, and there are probably some here today, who mourn and are not comforted. We all know people whose grief seems not just to continue but to grow. What is missing? Have they gotten stuck in one of the first four stages of grief? Perhaps. We need to remember that this promise of comfort was made by Jesus. God is the source of comfort. The Messiah is the messenger of comfort. The ...
... . He will listen to you if you tell him to stop eating foods with so much sugar." The teacher listened sympathetically and said, "Please come back in a week and make the request again." The mother agreed and returned seven days later. "My son's problem continues," she said. "I am greatly concerned about his health. He rarely eats vegetables or fruits. Please, won't you talk to him about the danger of eating too much sugar?" The teacher again said, "Please come back and see me in a week." Though the mother ...
... God, peacemakers have often been called cowards while soldiers are called heroes. There is a cost to being a peacemaker. There are statues of military heroes. They are justly acknowledged. But where are the statues to the peacemakers? We honor and continue to honor those who served in battle, people of courage who fought for our freedom. A grateful nation thanks them. Successful military leaders are promoted and given titles. For the peacemakers there is one reward and one title. God calls the peacemakers ...