RACHEL CRADDOCK|CONTRIBUTOR I love traditions. I can be persnickety when it comes to the execution of my precious practices and rituals. One Thanksgiving, my brother, who is a very talented chef, fancied up the cranberries. His adding to the traditional recipe sent me into a frenzy—and I cried. However, my love of traditions has mostly had a positive impact in my family life. There are several ways I created traditions for my four children: back-to-school photos on the front porch; family-themed Halloween costumes; March Madness bracket challenges; listening to a state-line songs on road trips, and pizza on paper plates in pajamas when my husband has a late meeting—just to name a few. The natural cadence of life in our home is bolstered by such traditions. As much as I cherish my traditions—which I assume as women we all love to create lasting memories with our children—traditions like that back-to-school photo on the front porch this fall will (perhaps) leave a lasting legacy; however, the traditions which we tend to fuss over while our children are in our homes will not extend into eternity. Reader, I am going to be honest with you here: I am human, both wretched and redeemed. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, my heart is prone to wander, and I am distracted by light and momentary afflictions. But God is faithful to keep me on the course. When it comes to being a parent, my love of earthly traditions can hinder me from being intentional to pass on the most integral and eternal tradition I have the privilege of passing on to my children— passing on the truth of who God is to His covenant people...