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      Nurturing people in the image of God since 1868.                                                                          POB 397/520 Dry Creek Rd./Smithville, TN

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MY BABY SITTER, MRS. H.

Mrs. H., my baby sitter, is as reliable as they come - even at the last moment, or on Saturdays, when I sometimes desperately need her help. Still....there are several nagging problems.

My mother, fair but strict, ran a tight ship. Sometimes when Mrs. H. watches Buddy, as she calls him, she lets him total phone numbers on the adding machine until the tape curls around the office chair. Or she lets him fill a sheet of paper with staples, or write a letter to himself, cover the envelope with stamps, then persuade the poor woman to walk with him to the nearest mailbox so he can drop his "letter" in.

Then there's food. Mother, a member of the Diet Police, permitted her children little or no food foolishness. Mrs. H., however, lets Buddy have vegetable soup or a hot dog for breakfast. When she bakes she slips him a handful of chocolate chips.

My own mother often read poetry and the children's classics to me. Mrs. H. also reads aloud, but lets my son choose what he'd like to hear. At times she reads automobile advertisements, tractor, motor oil or battery ads, until her voice gives out.

I'm not used to such indulgence. Is this sort of thing bad for the child? Mrs. H. disagrees. "He's a highly intelligent, sensitive boy. He's no trouble at all, and a perfect little gentleman," she asserts.

Still, with nobody else but my mother to compare her to, Mrs. H. confuses me. By now, of course, you've surely guessed my dilemma: the wonderful Mrs. H. and my own wonderful mother are one and the same! And, believe me, they are nothing alike!!

For His Cause,
Tim Woodward