Today’s Table Talk is by our friend Joe White – a walking billboard of encouragement for kids and parents alike. He sent the following letter to folks that have been involved with Kanakuk Kamps, where he has been building into the next generation of leaders for years. Check it out if you get a chance (www.kanakuk.com). Some of my favorite memories are on the shore of Lake Taneykomo, nestled in the Ozark mountains, teaching kids how to water-ski, then heading back years later to watch mine learn. I hope you enjoy Joe’s words of wisdom. He’s sweet to let me share. Thanks, Joe … and thanks for walking the road with me. -Kay Today as I write, I’m flying to Nashville for Michael W. Smith’s daughter’s wedding. Michael and Debbie Smith have been so faithful to Kanakuk over the last 25 years. He lives his
Joe White wrote the following article for Kanakuk families. I was thrilled when he told me I could share it on the blog. He has such a way with words – full of encouragement, wisdom and admonition as we walk the parenting road. I hope you enjoy (and are inspired by) it as much I did/was. Thanks Joe! … and thanks for walking the road with me. -Kay Building a family is like getting Kanakuk ready for summer! For 86 years it has been, for us, like getting a Christmas tree ready for Christmas. It’s a lot of anticipation, a lot of lights and wrapping paper, long hours, a lot of work and way worth every smiling second we put into the celebration! Nothing on this earth rivals the value of our time invested in the health of our family. The days are long, but the years are short! The president of the American Association of Christian Counselors and
Sorry I’m so late in posting today. We’re picking up kids at Kanakuk this weekend. It’s scorching hot, but that never seems to matter much to kids – especially when cousins are involved. This morning I was a bit of a mean mom as I forced Jack, after carrying him up a mammoth hill and at least a mile of walking to be a man and stand on his own 3-year-old feet. He whined and whined. I reiterated my message to snap out of it and to walk tall. With our car in sight, only steps to air-conditioned bliss, he stopped in his tracks and bellowed from the depth of his little soul a deep cough that brought back to the world his breakfast we had just eaten. He gagged and gagged, crying while trying to catch everything in his little hands lest he make a mess on the grass field where the cars were parked. I felt so bad.
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