When my first born was placed in my arms for the first time, fifteen years ago, it was both the happiest and the scariest moment of my entire life. No other joy in this world compared to the joy I felt at that very moment. At that moment, it dawned on me that I was personally responsible for taking care of this brand-new life. No other fear in this world compared to the fear I felt at that very moment. Forty-eight hours later, as I sat in the wheelchair and the nurse placed my little bundle of joy in my arms and waved good-bye, my heart sank for a second and I thought, “How on earth am I going to do this?” As I walked in the doors of our home, my concern turned to prayer and I said, “Help Lord, I don’t know what to do!” I felt the ginormous responsibility. My prayer was not necessarily for the physical needs of that tiny infant; my worry was more for the spiritual needs of my son. How was I, a sinner, going to do this incredible task of raising a child… a heaven-bound child?
I saw it laying on my kitchen table, I thought wow how exciting and went on, with much enthusiasm, to read the article. Later on I checked my e-mail and saw lots of messages from local 
