I remember ...those long days, while I was working in the prison. Often I'd have to work a double-shift ...so even when I got a day-off, it seemed I was always catching up on my sleep.

My bed was a much coveted place, but our children were very young, and they would say, "Tell us a bedtime story first!"

I often remember saying that I didn't know any bedtime stories, to which they'd say, "Mom just makes them up ...just make one up!" 

And I'd usually say, "I'm not good at telling stories like Mom."

It was at this moment, the guilt would impact me in a big way. After all, what greater moment is there for children to make known the cumulative desires of their hearts, those last testaments of love before falling asleep ...those endearing moments with Dad and Mom.

  We had taught them all to pray, turning their hearts towards God, as they crawl into bed each night.  

What kind of witness would I be, if not to encourage them also to freely desire that quality time with the very ones who had told them about God ...and all about how loving He is.