The big yellow school bus pulled up to the curb, and its tall doors opened. With tears in her eyes, Mom kissed my cheek and helped me up the steps. Eagerly, I looked forward to my first day of kindergarten.

When the bus arrived at school, we were led inside. The classroom's colourful walls, posters, and chalkboards fascinated me. Our teacher, Miss Ruth, placed us in groups of five, with a leader. Then she explained our daily routine and gave us a tour of the school. As the day progressed, I became more comfortable — school wasn't so scary after all.

Following lunch and a nap, Miss Ruth led the class to the playground. After watching us swing, slide, and climb the monkey bars, she announced that we were about to learn a new game: Follow The Leader. The instructions were simple — imitate your leader's every move. If he jumps on one foot, you jump on one foot. If he quacks like a duck, you quack like a duck.

After a day of laughter and lessons, I returned home. "How was your first day?" Mom asked. "Did you like your teacher? What did you learn?"

"I had fun, and my teacher is so nice, but I'm afraid I didn't learn much."

"You will, darling. Give it time."

She was so right. In time, I noticed many similarities between grammar school and kindergarten. For one thing, grammar school also had groups with designated leaders, but students chose their groups without teacher direction.

In high school, those typical childhood cliques remained the same: jocks ran the halls with authority; nerds always had their noses in books; rebels skipped class often, and so on. The only thing they all had in common was a need of leadership and a sense of belonging.

After experimenting with several cliques, I still felt like an outcast, confused and lost, until I noticed a group of smiling classmates. They seemed content, not having to mingle, yet displaying an inviting atmosphere. Curious, I introduced myself and noticed they weren't studying a schoolbook, but the Bible. I felt a growing need to become part of this group, so unlike the external desire to be popular.

Recognizing my inner struggle, a girl in the group asked, "Do you know Jesus Christ?" I was puzzled. How was she able to see into my heart? Listening to her explain His promise of eternal salvation, I felt a lifelong struggle within my soul coming to an end. At that very moment, I invited Jesus into my heart and joined this body of believers.

Having discovered my true Leader, my life now had purpose. I realized other groups I'd joined had no destination. What I had truly been searching for has always been there, waiting for acceptance.

As we mature, our walk with God is dictated by the rules of that kindergarten game: focus on your Leader, and strive to imitate Him. Daily, we become more Christ-like by never forgetting to "Follow The Leader".

Prayer: Saviour, we pray for strength to continue following You — no matter where the path leads. Help us not to be led astray by yielding to temptation. May each step lead us closer to eternal life with the one and only true Leader: Jesus Christ. Amen.

My grandparents built their home with little money and much love. It became a monument of memories: meals in the kitchen, laughs in the living room, bubble baths in the claw-foot tub, bedside prayers, and occasional spankings in the laundry room.

During their elderly years, the house deteriorated, as did their health. But while they were slow about fixing a leaky roof, they hastened to wipe away my tears. Though they neglected household repairs, yet they always mended my heart.

Their comforting words became echoes in empty rooms.

When grandma died, the wonderful kitchen aromas were no more; company rarely gathered in the living room; the tub was no longer an adventure; prayers seemed senseless; the laundry room lost its fearful gloom.

Few things remained the same: papa still loved for me to scratch his head, the floor still squeaked, and the woodstove blazed year-round.

Each visit, papa comforted me as best he could by offering my favourite treat — a moon pie and an RC Cola. Still, his love couldn't offset the pain I felt when I passed grandma's room. Though she was no longer there, I still smelled her scent and heard her loving voice.

Eventually, papa joined grandma in heaven. Only that wonderful old house remained.

On the dreaded day of decision, I pulled into the driveway and saw the construction crew waiting. The foreman pointed out how costly remodelling would be, not realizing that the old house was priceless to me. I couldn't accept his logic that it should be demolished and rebuilt.

Exhibiting grandma's stubborn streak, I said, "There must be something you can do to fix it — this place is a big part of my life!"

"Ma'am, the roof is caving in, the floors are rotten, and the walls are buckling. It's no longer safe. Allow us to level it down to the foundation."

My tears started. I couldn't hold onto the past, but feared that destroying my grandparents' home would somehow erase not just memories, but moments in life that moulded me into who I am.

The foreman, a wise, kind man, understood my dilemma and said, "Ma'am, keep what needs to be in your heart, and let the old go. Start with a clean slate."

As painful as it was, with a nod of my head, I surrendered to his advice. "You're right, this old house needs tearing down."

Before he began the wrecking process, the foreman spoke comforting words I shall never forget. "One's past must undergo painful demolition when it causes more harm than good; only then can new construction begin."

My pain was stripped away, realizing that by getting rid of the old I was able to be transformed into a new creation — having a better, more stable structure. In letting the past become a stumbling block to development, I hindered God's construction. By allowing God to become the Foreman of my life, each moment becomes a building block representing my new identity created within.

Prayer: Thank You, Jesus, for helping us to renounce obstacles in our lives that prevent us from becoming the children You created us to be. Dear Lord, please continue to reveal any of the old that obstructs us from being transformed into a new identity — one on and in which You can dwell. In Your name, we pray. Amen.

Dad and I spent many mornings watching dawn break over our backyard pond. Fishing poles in hand, we waited for the slightest nibble. Often, we'd catch a few bream — enough to keep my hopes up.

As my tenth birthday neared, Dad hinted that he had a surprise for me. I awoke early, anticipating a gift, but found nothing. Then I saw Dad, smiling, dressed in fishing clothes, carrying a tackle box. Somewhat disappointed, I thought, "Just another day at our old pond."

Was I ever wrong! We hopped in his truck and drove away — but to my surprise, not toward the pond. When Dad pulled up to the seacoast, I was so excited! For the first time, I saw the ocean and huge fishing boats docked at the pier.

"Don't just sit there," Dad said. "Grab the tackle box and come on!" We walked past boats of different shapes and sizes. Then there it was — the monster of them all.

As I climbed the boat's ladder, I had no way of knowing I was entering a new stage of my life. Curiously, I watched the work going on around me: the captain shouting orders with authority and the deckhands performing their tasks efficiently.

Like a knife through butter, the boat parted the ocean, taking me on my first deep-sea fishing trip. Far from land, the captain killed the engine, and we began drifting. Then he ordered, "Drop the anchor." As the chain rattled over the side of the boat, I asked, "Dad, what does the anchor do?"

"It keeps the boat from drifting," he said. Satisfied with his brief explanation, I was eager to start fishing.

The day was perfect: plenty of sunshine, a cool breeze, and hungry fish! There's nothing to deep-sea fishing, I thought, simply drop the line, and reel in a fish. By midday, I considered myself a true, professional angler.

Dad and I were busy baiting our hooks, when the captain told us an approaching storm would cut the day short. Not wanting anything to spoil my fun, I said, "It's okay — the anchor will keep us steady." Chuckling, the captain said, "What faith you have, young lady!"

Heavy and hard, the storm struck. Rain pelted the deck, forcing us to take shelter. Violent winds rocked the boat; black clouds loomed overhead. My happiness turned to fear. Realizing this, Dad squatted so that his eyes were level with mine and said, "Not everything in life unfolds as we want; sometimes things are beyond our control. At those moments, just believe."

"Believe in what, Dad?"

"Anchors keep boats secure — as faith in God keeps people secure."

Eventually, the storm subsided, the ocean became smooth again, and the warm sun brightened my spirits. A wave of comfort swept over me when I realized that through faith, I had endured the storm, and was once again blessed with calm. On that special birthday, I learned the value of anchoring my soul in the Lord.

Prayer: Dear Lord, we ask for unwavering faith, knowing You are in control of our life's storms. Remind us that we are always anchored in Your security, and help us to focus on the calm You provide. You are the One Whom even the wind and sea obey. In Jesus' name, we pray. Amen.