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DECEMBER 2004
ISSUE HOMEPAGE

A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Just Between Men
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Treehouse
'Tis the Season
The Joy of Family
The Rhythm of Life
We Are the Church


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ARCHIVES
From the Editor -
Darlene Hight
Golden Apples
Featured Article
MorningA Star Named Hilda
By Darlene Hight

This month Iím thinking about stars. When the wise men were looking for Jesus, they followed the star. It wasnít just any star. It was a star that illuminated the sky like none theyíd ever seen. These were highly educated men; scholars who spent time studying the heavens. Therefore, they must have found something different about this particular star. In some way, it shone brighter than all of the rest.

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A Taste of Heaven
By Sandra Fischer

My daughter, Sarah, stands on the kitchen stool, spatula in hand, ready to scrape the edge of the mixing bowl. The bowl turns on the stand, swirling the angel food cake mixture in a whirlpool of white. I join the rhythmic sound of the mixer as it spins, humming the melody of an old hymn, "In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore. . ."

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MomsDon't Be Afraid of your Own Voice
By Wendy Decker

I stapled it, laid it in on the desk and rolled the ten pages Iíd written over the weekend into a scroll, then gingerly wrapped it with a red ribbon.

"Here, Mr. Weinfeld, I wrote a story for you. Merry Christmas."

I donít think Mr. Weinfeld celebrated Christmas, but he smiled and said, "Thank you very much."

Mr. Weinfeld was my seventh-grade teacher and probably the only positive, male role model in my life at the time. He encouraged me with compliments on my writing projects and good grades on my report card.

He often played records during recess and challenged us to interpret the lyrics of the song for extra credit. He introduced our class to songs written by Jim Croce, a wonderful songwriter who also inspired me.

Once, Mr. Weinfeld even wrote a letter to my mother telling her I had talent as a writer. I didnít know about the letter until many years later. My mother didnít have much ability for keeping track of little things like that, but my grandmother did. I discovered the letter in a box of her belongings.

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