The first shining jewel was not spoken in words, but in a strange yet emotional bond of silence from which volumes seemed to have been written.  It happened when the nurse laid my first born in the crook of my arm just a few hours after his birth.  My first child had been several weeks late in arrival.  Like most young mothers, I had imagined what the baby would look like.  Being somewhat practical, I had realized that most newborns are not really altogether lovely and their eyes are not usually fully focused.  So I was totally unprepared for the fact that my son was not ruddy and wrinkled.  He had lovely smooth pale skin and rosy cheeks.  But it was the look in his eyes that caught my breath away.  Crystal blue and clearly focused, they stared straight into my eyes.  After my shocked gasp, I quietly gazed back.  For several moments, it seemed we looked only at each other, and in those moments something was sealed in my heart.  It was an immense shining love for my newborn son, reaching to a life time of commitment.  Still gazing into those clear blue eyes, I prayed out loud in quiet tones and gave that beautiful child back to God, dedicating him.  And as I was to realize years later, in that moment I was also fully dedicating myself to motherhood.  I can see that event in my memory box, even with my eyes wide open.  The baby’s eyes turned green at age three and he is now a junior in college, but the commitment is still there and it extended to my other two babies who were both born somewhat ruddy and wrinkled.

The time passes five years and eleven months.  The baby is now a sturdy little boy and for one solid week he has asked me one question after another about the Bible, the Gospel, Christ and salvation.  I have led several Sunday School children to Christ in the Junior and Teenage departments, and many adults, but this is my own son.  Suddenly, I am not so certain of myself and my heart is thumping, oh so loudly.  After several days of this, I call my best friend to ask her advise.  Her son is three months older than mine and recently saved.  She drove straight over to my house that night to give me a little booklet that was shared with her son.

"I think I know how you feel.  Are you a little afraid you won't do it right and that he will make a false profession of faith?"  I quietly nod my assent.  "1 felt the same way," she confides, "and another friend shared this little booklet with Jimmy.  She told me to leave it in God's hands and trust Christ.  Let's pray about it together."

The next morning I shared the booklet with my son and watched his eyes glow with an excitement I could not have imagined.  He looked each page over with me and then quietly took it to his room.  After half an hour, he brought the booklet back into the kitchen and asked me several questions about it.  My heart thumped very loudly.  Maybe this is the moment, I thought, but he just smiled and said, "Thanks, Mom," and returned to his room.  Maybe another day, I thought.  But late that evening, well after I had turned the light out in the room he shared with his little brother, I realized he was standing next to me as I was putting his baby sister to bed.  Something in his eyes told me, this was a special moment.

"Mom, could you pray with me right now?"

"Of course, honey. Is it something special?"

"Oh, mom, if I were to die tonight, I know I would not go to heaven because I've never really confessed my sins and been saved.  I'm not a real Christian.  I want to pray and settle it right now.  And, Mom, I want you to be with me.  Can we pray, Mom?"

Over the gigantic lump in my throat I managed to say, "Of course."

I can see him right now.  Dropping to his knees in the closet doorway, clasping his hands and praying in a clear strong voice, "Dear Jesus, thank You for dying for me.  Please forgive me for my sin and please save me right now.  Make me a real born again Christian.  Thank You, God that You hear and answer my prayer.  Amen."

We both stayed on our knees while I praised and thanked God.  Then came the shining moment through my tears when my physical and now spiritual son ran into my arms for a hearty hug, the joy of which will last a lifetime.

Right next to that jewel of memory is another closely strung on a chain.  It was several weeks later when Daddy and I were trying to explain why we called other saved people "Brother and Sister."  We fell to the practical.  "You know how Dennis is your little brother because he has the same father?  Well, someday he will be your spiritual brother when he gets saved and God is his spiritual Father.  Then he will be your brother in Christ, too."

"Oh, but mom, he already is," the room is quiet, "You see I just couldn't imagine heaven without my brother and I so wanted him to go, too, so one night after devotions I waited until you went to bed and then I explained it all to Dennis and we got on our knees next to the bed and he prayed, too.  So you see, he is already my brother in the Lord!"  The sparkle and shine in Sean's eyes had to be straight from heaven!

It seemed just the next week he brought his special school friend Tony home with him.  "Mom," he smiled, "Can you tell Tony about Jesus, too?"

So for several weeks, I told Tony, usually at the kitchen table, with a shining Sean listening intently, but we had no solid response from his friend.  We prayed together every day for Tony and finally his mother gave permission for Tony to attend an outdoor children’s rally,  The day was windy and the desert sands were blowing in little swirls through the school yard that served as the meeting place.  Realizing Sean, who had asthma, was starting to wheeze, I took him to the safety of one of the corridors where there was shelter from the wind.  We told Tony to stay put with Dennis in the rally group.  I was wrapping baby sister more securely, when I realized Sean was crying. 

"What is it, honey?" I asked.

"Look, Mom," he smiled through his tears, "It's the invitation and Tony is going forward.  I knew it! Jesus answered our prayers, Mom!"  I forgot about the wind and the dust for several minutes it seems.

Oh, yes, here’s another.  The little brother.  So many doubted and then came the invitation at the evening service almost two years later. 

A firm tug at my sleeve, "Mom."

"Shush, be quiet, son." (ever the motherly response)

Two lines of the hymn, then, "Mom?"

"Now son, you know better than to speak during the invitation."

Silence, then suddenly a realization. Looking down, I see two dark tear stained eyes. Finally, I listen to the Holy Spirit, "What is it, son?"

"Mom, isn't this when people go down to the front of the church if they need to talk to God about something special?"

The song goes on, but I hold my breath. "Yes, son."

Quiet waiting. "Mom, I want to make sure I'm saved." The song stops. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, of course you can."

The pastor is praying to close the service. Bravely and undaunted, my little son walks from the back row all the way down the aisle, and stops in front of the pastor, reaches up his hand to gently tug on the tall man's sleeve.

"Excuse me, sir, could someone pray with me to make sure I'm saved?"

"I'm sure we can arrange for that young man!"

A moment captured in time.

Time passed. The same dark eyed boy, bursting into the living room on a bright shiny day.

"Oh, Mom, Mom.  Quick get ready," fast breaths and shining eyes greet me. "Oh, Mom, brother and I were walking through the woods with the new boy we met and I wanted so to tell him about Jesus.  So when we saw the sun shining through the trees on the path looking like spots of gold, I told him about the streets of gold in heaven and what you have to do to get there and after a long time of talking, I prayed with him, Mom, like you taught me!  But, oh Mom, Brother is bringing him here because I want you to make sure, because it is too important!"

A half hour later, I felt it was sure and sincere. 

Much later the dark eyes caught mine again, "Oh, Mom, I've got my first jewel in my crown to give to Jesus, don't I?"

"Yes, son, I should say you do."

Then, little sister just turned three, suddenly turning to me. "Mommy, Jesus died for everybody in the whole world didn't He?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

Actual tears run down her cheeks. "Then why is it, not everyone loves Him, Mommy?"

"I don't know, child." Then quietly in my heart I whisper, "But I can see you have begun."

Months later, the same blonde curly top suddenly refuses to pray at home and stands herself in a corner during Sunday School. No one knows why. And then on a walk under a cloud filled sky she suddenly asks, "Mommy, will Jesus really come again in the clouds?"

"Yes, Honey."

"But what if He comes too fast, will He crash?"

"Oh, no," my laughter is stopped short by her serious face, "You see Jesus is God."

"And Mommy, He will take all the people that love Him with Him in the sky?"

"Yes."

"But Mommy, there are so many grown up saved people and I'm so very small.  I'm afraid Jesus might drop me and I would fall and that would be awful."

"Oh, no, honey, Jesus will give you a special body and you will just go up like He does." "

Oh."  Silence, then the heart of the matter, "But Mommy, I don't want to go to heaven because I don't want to get washed in the blood of the Lamb!" (Yes, we had been singing that song almost every Sunday.)

Somehow I was able to adequately explain this complicated spiritual truth to the sincere little girl beside me.

"Okay, Mommy, I think I'd like to go to heaven then, if only you will just ask Jesus not to make me ride on the back of a lion" (Oh, dear, we do have a picture of a little child with a lamb and a lion in the New Jerusalem.)

All Bible college training aside, down on my knees, eye to eye with this serious child, "Honey, I'll ask Jesus to let you be where the kitty cats and puppy dogs are, okay?"

Big smile, "Okay, Mom.  Hey, can I pray for supper tonight?"

Time passes.  A taller but still blonde little girl resolutely walks the aisle during Vacation Bible School, and asks to pray with her Mom.

"Mommy, remember those other times I prayed about getting saved?  Well, I think I just wanted to tell Jesus I loved Him, but now I know I need my sin taken away.  Can we pray together right now."

Oh, so many more jewels, so shiny and bright...  I'm on deputation now, in a strange city, a new church.  A large ten year old boy stays behind after the Sunday School class that I just taught.

 "Ma'am, you said if anyone wanted to get saved, they could stay after.  Well, I walked all the way down the hall and I knew I had to come back."

His eyes shine as I go through the gospel again. "Is there anything you don't understand?" I ask.

"Yes, just this one thing, how do they get sugar in marshmallows?" Even he seems surprised.

"Well now, I don't know, but I do know that Satan doesn't want a certain young man to get truly saved.  Now what do you think is more important, marshmallows or getting saved?"

"Getting saved!"  Back to the gospel, but afterwards a promise to find out how sugar gets in marshmallows.

Another meeting, and I'm all alone with a large children's church.  Where are the adult helpers I asked for?  Just one teenager.  At the invitation six children come forward, all very young.

"Here lead the others in some songs," I say as I quickly hand the song sheets to the teen.  "I'll deal with these."

Thinking loudly in my mind that I prefer one on one, I nevertheless deal with them all.  Then I leave a short note in the pastor's office: "Please arrange for follow up with each child, dealt with in a group."  (Have I forgotten Pentecost?)

That night in the greeting line after the service, an elderly woman with a babushka scarf over her head and a thick Russian accent lifts me off the ground ... soundly kissing both cheeks.

"You beautiful missionary lady," she says with tears running unchecked down her cheeks.  "I left Russia to be able to worship my God and now today you lead my great granddaughter to the Lord Jesus.  She came home and told me, 'Grandma-ma, the missionary lady, she prayed with me and five of my friends and I know I have Jesus in my heart!'"

(Lord, thank You, and help me never to doubt Your power.)

Oh, there are so many more:

I'm very ill, and awaken to hear my oldest child praying, "Please God, don't let my mother die, I need her so."

Still ill, I reach over and hug my youngest.  She draws back in surprise, then hugs back, "Oh, Mommy, even though you are very sick, you are still my mommy!"

("Yes, dear")

Still ill and looking it, gently I feel a hand on my cheek, my second son.  "You're so beautiful, Mommy."

("Thank You, Lord")

On the mission field, the ray of understanding suddenly in the Catholic boy's eyes as I teach the Resurrection.  He jumps up in class, "Oh, teacher, you mean Jesus is really alive!  Why that means He is not dead on the cross over my bed and if He is not dead, He can live in my heart!  Can I ask Him in right now?"

("Yes, Anthony")

Leaving the mission station for the last time, after being hugged and kissed by five girls I had led to Christ during my ministry, standing back and suddenly realizing they were jewels in my crown for Jesus.

Oh, there are so many more jewels in my memory box, but then our time together today is almost over.  I can open my treasure box up at anytime.  But then I am certain that your memory box has some rare gems in it, too.  Treasure them.  Make them shine with continued use.  And by all means, add to the jewels in your crown.  Someday you will share it with your Lord.