“I al­re­a­dy have my af­ter school snack at home,” I brag­ged to my brot­her as the school bus boun­ced down the dirt road to­ward our stop at the ed­ge of the corn­field. I thought about how sweet the Brach’s ca­ra­mel chews hid­den in my dres­ser dra­wer would tas­te. The night be­fo­re, on a trip to New Mar­ket gro­ce­ry store with mom, I had put them in my jac­ket poc­ket as we wal­ked down the can­dy ais­le, and no­bo­dy no­ti­ced. What a score!

Their gold foil wrap­pers glin­ted as I sna­ked them out from their hi­ding place bet­ween my dres­ser dra­wers. The fact that they had to be ea­ten in sec­ret would make them on­ly tas­te swee­ter. But of cour­se, af­ter brag­ging to my brot­her about my af­ter-school snack, I re­fu­sed to share any with him. So he told on me. When I he­ard mom cal­ling my name from downs­tairs, shame and guilt exp­lo­ded wit­hin me, ig­ni­ted by my sin-scorc­hed cons­cien­ce.

That eve­ning, I ex­pe­rien­ced the lon­gest five-mile car trip of my life. Just Mom, Dad, me and an over­po­we­ring air of dread. In the store ma­na­ger's of­fi­ce, my ey­es wel­led with te­ars, my nose be­gan to run, and my voi­ce qu­a­ve­red out an apo­lo­gy as I pro­du­ced the few re­mai­ning une­a­ten can­dies, se­ve­ral emp­ty wrap­pers, and all the coins from my pig­gy bank.

On the way back home, Dad tal­ked about how the Bib­le te­ac­hes us not to steal, how ste­a­ling is a sin, and how God ha­tes sin. But he al­so tal­ked about how God lo­ves the sin­ner, des­pi­te ha­ting sin. He tal­ked about how God gave His on­ly son, Je­sus, to wash away our sins. Dad and Mom both as­su­red me that my sins were for­gi­ven in Je­sus' name and blood, even the sin of ste­a­ling. My bur­den was lif­ted. All was for­gi­ven. The trip home was so much quic­ker than the trip to the store.

I would gu­ess that ne­ar­ly all be­lie­ving fa­mi­lies have si­mi­lar sto­ries to share. We all fall in­to sin. And when our ac­ti­ons cau­se harm to ot­hers, we in­cur a trip­le debt: to the of­fen­ded par­ty, to so­cie­ty, and to our own cons­cien­ce. Fee­lings of guilt lead to a sin­ce­re apo­lo­gy for wrong­doing, and we seek to make amends to ot­her pe­op­le and to so­cie­ty. But be­lie­vers are ext­ra luc­ky be­cau­se God’s child­ren been gi­ven to know the po­wer of God, and faith to be­lie­ve sins for­gi­ven in Je­sus’ name and blood: the per­fect balm to soot­he a brui­sed cons­cien­ce. And this know­led­ge and faith are ins­til­led and rein­for­ced through the eve­ry­day ha­bits of a be­lie­ving home.

Faith gui­des the life of a be­lie­ving home. We le­arn the ABCs of faith at ser­vi­ces, Sun­day school and dis­cus­si­ons at home. Faith ma­kes us long for God's word and fel­lows­hip with ot­her be­lie­vers. May this lon­ging ne­ver sub­si­de! My pa­rents grew up in be­lie­ving fa­mi­lies and ho­mes, where it was a pri­o­ri­ty to gat­her with be­lie­vers, and Mom and Dad en­de­a­vo­red to rear their child­ren in the nur­tu­re and ad­mo­ni­ti­on of the Lord. Christ, the Chief Cor­ners­to­ne, is the foun­da­ti­on of faith, and in a be­lie­ving fa­mi­ly and home we re­cei­ve sup­port and en­cou­ra­ge­ment to walk up­right on the way to he­a­ven.

I re­mem­ber he­a­ring a pre­ac­her say, “When you ser­ve God's child­ren, you ser­ve God.” When we ser­ve and en­cou­ra­ge each ot­her, inc­lu­ding the child­ren who share a place in our li­ves, we al­so ex­pe­rien­ce God’s bles­sing our­sel­ves. I’ve had to le­arn this les­son many ti­mes sin­ce that day I took can­dy from New Mar­ket gro­ce­ry store. But there is much more yet to le­arn, and much re­mains to te­ach the co­ming ge­ne­ra­ti­on. So­me­ti­mes this res­pon­si­bi­li­ty seems overw­hel­ming, but then I re­mem­ber that God pro­mi­ses to al­wa­ys pro­vi­de a way to hand­le wha­te­ver chal­len­ges He lays be­fo­re us.

With my wife and fa­mi­ly at my side, I hope to con­ti­nue le­ar­ning and ser­ving. But my most fer­vent pra­yer is that God would pro­vi­de strength to con­ti­nue be­lie­ving, and to re­main among His flock where li­ving faith and hope flou­rish.