“I don’t know, Dad. It must have been the woodland fairies.”

That was the explanation of a friend’s five-year-old-daughter for how the whipped cream got out of the fridge and all over her and her brother’s face. The fairies. And the look on her face didn’t betray a single doubt or worry that her story wouldn’t hold up. There were only two questions: Did she really think her would believe her? And, was he able to able to discipline her without laughing?

What kind of excuses have your kids given you over the years?

Last week the Lord blessed and challenged us with around 100 kids ages 3-13 for our fourth New Hope Lutheran Soccer Camp. Each day we taught the kids various dribbling moves like step-overs, v-pulls, hook turns, pull backs, scissors and the Maradonna. The kids were probably thinking what you’re thinking: “You’ve got to be kidding! What are all those things? I can never learn all those moves. Impossible! I can’t do that!” But the coaches and their assistants were able to help them and train them so that over time they could accomplish great things.

His real, given name was Levi. That venerable Jewish name; the tribe of Israel from whom priests and temple servants were taken. But he was called Matthew. In the story of his call in Mark and Luke, the name Levi is still used; it is only Matthew himself that does not use it. Why? Did he consider himself unworthy of such an exalted name? Unworthy, since he did not serve his people but the Romans by serving as a tax collector? In that role his fellow Jews considered him a traitor of the worst kind – a sinner to be lumped together in the category of prostitutes and Gentiles. Such was Matthew’s life – not a Roman to the Romans and not a Jew to the Jews. A man without a country.

Virginia's 34-year-old Tarshema Brice has six children. Sadly, the income she receives from being a hairstylist and janitor didn’t always cover all her bills. When she realized the money going out was greater than the money coming in, Brice did what many non-Christian, but creative people, might do – she made more money.

A few weeks ago, I visited with the Kexel family to discuss baptism for their three children – Michael, Matthew, and Katelynn. I sat in their living room teaching what God has to say about the blessings of baptism. I read Matthew 28:19 “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Then I asked Michael, who will be a 6th grader at WLS this year, “What is your first name?” He answered, “Michael.”

The fifth-grade girl had won a contest at school. Her prize was a special ticket which allowed her and her parents to enter the circus grounds two hours before the general public. Being a curious sort, she wandered here, there, everywhere. She saw how the lions were moved in and out of their cages; she watched as the clowns put on their makeup; she got to bounce in the net, which was set up under the trapeze artists. She went everywhere, and everywhere she had questions.

“Aww, do I hafta?”

How many of you parents have raised your children, yet never heard those words come out of their mouths? When you have asked them to pick up their rooms, do their homework, take out the garbage, clean the cat’s litter box, wash the dishes, or do any small chore, was their response a gleeful, “I would love to do that, dearest Father or Mother”? Or was their response a whiny, “Do I hafta?”

Faith Peyron is a freshman at Shoreland Lutheran High School. Faith has leukemia. This past year her classmates at Shoreland have supported Faith with their friendship, their prayers and with benefits to raise money for her battle against leukemia.

Recently, one of the local papers picked up the story of Faith’s battle against leukemia. They posted something on Facebook that told Faith’s story and then said, “Send positive thoughts Faith’s way.”

One Saturday morning, six-year-old Devin decided to fix his parents pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled a chair to the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor. He scooped some of flour into the bowl with his hands, leaving a floury trail on the floor, which by now had a few tracks left by his kitten. He mixed in a cup of milk and added some sugar. Devin was covered with flour and getting frustrated. He wanted this to be something very good for Mom and Dad, but it was getting very bad. He didn’t know what to do next, whether to put it all into the oven or on the stove, (and he didn’t know how the stove worked)!

The other day, out of the blue, my eight-year-old asked what happened to the people in the stories above where the planes hit the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001. I answered her that everyone above the planes died. They had no way to escape and survive.