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A Word in Season
Acting Up
As I Imitate Christ
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Joy of Family
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The Rhythm of Life
The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
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From the Editor -
Karen Treharne
The Joy of Family
Featured Poem
Dissatisfied or Disgruntled?
By Karen Treharne

"Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot;
The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot;
Oh! Let us fill our hearts up with the glory of the day,
And banish ev’ry doubt and care and sorrow far away."

~ James Whitcomb Riley ~

Spring ends and summer begins around June 20, 21, or 22 in the Northern Hemisphere. It is the time when days are sunny and warm and flowers are beautiful. In the Southern hemisphere, winter is bringing cold, rainy weather. A division like night and day that God designed. One is not better than the other. In fact each has its own appeal and is a gift with purpose from our Creator.

Growing up, my children were much like most other kids. Summer was their favorite time of year. Homework was a word of the past; getting up early was no longer a concern; and spending hours outdoors was all that mattered – away from chores, away from responsibilities. But winter, on the other hand, wasn’t too bad either. Snow days meant cancelled school and forgotten homework, and whether to take out their sleds or their skis were the only decisions that had to be made on a daily basis; and of course, sleeping in was still a bonus.

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Mine Story
By Carleta Fernandes

"MeeMaw, MeeMaw, tell mine story." My five-year-old darling climbed onto my lap. He never tired of hearing "mine story".

"Once upon a time in a far away land called Kansas, there was an itty-bitty baby boy. He was so tiny I don't think he even had a name." I began.

Grinning, he snuggled closer to me, fragrant from his bath. "Did too. Did too. It's Ryan. That's me."

I watched his pale blue eyes close briefly as he yawned, unsure whether he could stay awake until "...and they lived happily ever after." As I continued, my thoughts were on his real story, the one I couldn't tell him.

Ryan was the product of a too-early marriage between a violent young man and an immature girl. The situation was so bad that, Katie, Ryan's mother, sought and was granted a divorce before Ryan was even born. His father thankfully became an unknown ghost from their distant past, never to make contact again.

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A Hunting We Will Go
By Linda Germain

In the early 1940’s, before UPS and Fed-Ex, most freight was hauled in railroad baggage cars. My future father was working in a diner near the tracks when a "suit" from The Railway Express Company came in to eat. The man was most impressed with this young fellow’s ability and charm and offered him a job. Handling mail on a train sounded very adventurous and appealing.

What transpired on one of those runs is a tribute to Dad’s creative, inventive mind, but it also sounds like movie high jinks, not real life. You can view it from two perspectives. One: How incredibly clever he was. Two: Boy Howdy, Ralph, it is amazing he didn’t get caught!

It all began on a routine day at work. The iron horse stopped in his hometown in west Tennessee, where several cages containing some unique cargo was put on board. Dad was charged with the management and protection of twenty lively, barking, pedigree hunting dogs. They had begun their journey in Paducah, Kentucky, and were on their way to Little Rock, Arkansas. He knew nothing about these animals except they were worth more money than he had ever seen.
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By Howard L. Pierce

Recalling fondest scenes from ‘yesterday’…
The things they did…amusing things they’d say…
Three little boys…grown up and moved away…
And NOW…I love them MORE…
MORE than I loved BEFORE!
I’m STILL…their dad…

Three little fellows…scrubbed, and put to bed…
But NOT before we knelt…and prayers were said…
We asked that throughout life…they’d all be fed…
By God’s eternal Grace…
That WE might see His face…
I’m just…their dad.

Along our journey…over many years…
We’ve shared each others’ joys…and shed some tears…
We’ve dealt with sorrow, conflict, doubt and fears…
And we’re still BEST of friends…
The kind that NEVER ends…
I’m proud I’m "dad"…

Then, one day on a brighter shore we’ll stand…
We’ll hear a concert by an Angel Band…
ETERNALLY…together…in the Land…
The Land of peace and rest…
Where we will find…His best…
WE’VE found…OUR Dad!

Howard was born and raised in a Quaker household and, because his own eyesight is almost gone, he is particularly devoted to writing poetry for the blind. You may write to Howard through the Letters page of this magazine.