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TABLE OF CONTENTS
A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
Ascribe Greatness
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Joy of Family
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Rhythm of Life
The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
'Tis the Season
We Are the Church
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From the Editor -
John Hunt
A Merry Heart
Featured Article
Spiritual Fescue
By John Hunt

I’ve found that nearly everyone has at least one arch nemesis in their lifetime. For instance, Superman has Lex Luther, Spiderman has the Green Goblin, and Oprah has Twinkies™. Then there’s me. I have the most insidious, nefarious enemy of them all. I have my lawn.

You may think lawns are benign, morally neutral entities, free from the duality that faces mankind. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Pure evil lurks in their chlorophyll veins, and just like Dracula, Frankenstein, or Simon Cowell, their maliciousness must be dealt with. Why, even domesticated ones can turn on you, and if left to their own devices, they most assuredly will turn back to their wild nature – I have scars to prove it.

As far as lawns go, mine went bad long ago. It’s a sad thing, really. Corruptive influences like crabgrass and dandelions started hanging around – I knew they were bad seeds from the beginning.

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The Missing Gene
By Cheri Hardaway

I smacked the alarm clock into silence and groaned. "Do I really have to do this?"

I’d rather clean toilets... de-bone a chicken... get a root canal...

"But I promised," I conceded.

Resigned, I got ready. While brushing, I pondered. There is something vital missing from my genetic code. Women love to shop. Everyone knows that! Everyone but me.

Well, if Jesus could die for me, I can keep my word and shop with my kids.


I actually managed to emerge from my bedroom with a smile.

They were ready and waiting. A shopping trip! I had even agreed to take the girls’ friends.

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Digging Deep
By Dori Knight

Bob waited near the shed, eager to start the spring garden. He was advancing in years, weaker, and less sharp, perhaps, but as loyal a friend as you could ask for, and I loved him.

We shared a passion for gardening, Bob and I, and looked forward to the simply pleasure of digging in the black dirt. It was a bond only a true gardener could understand.

"So, when are you going to retire that old thing?" my husband asked.

I was indignant. "That isn’t very nice. Bob has been faithful and loyal all these years. He’s dug me out of more holes than I care to remember."

"Well, maybe that’s because ‘he’ is a shovel."

I resented the ease with which he dismissed my old comrade. "Bob is more than a shovel. Bob is my friend."

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