Flight Paths

All of my piano students had assignment books.  For one thing, I could not remember twenty assignments a week, especially not after thirty years of making them.  For another, this was their practice record and what they had or had not accomplished showed me how to help them.
          
           I believe in goal-oriented practice.  At the beginning, for very young students, the goal was simply to repeat an exercise or practice a piece a certain number of times.  The pieces were so short that playing them through that number of times accomplished its purpose—becoming familiar with the keyboard and training the fingers to automatically hit a certain key when the eye saw the note.

            The student then progressed to an assignment book charting the number of minutes they practiced.  If I asked for 150 minutes in the week, they could divide it however they wished as long as it added up to at least 150 minutes.  By this time the exercises were more difficult, the scales more complicated, and the pieces longer, so I usually included detailed instructions on how to use those minutes best to accomplish the goal.  That is also how I came up with a minute total.  If they showed me they could accomplish the same goals in less time, I either upped the goals or lowered the minutes depending upon their age, ability, and interest.

            The final level of assignment book was reached by only a few.  The pieces were usually several pages long and took months to learn.  They were classics requiring far more than simple note-reading and counting.  At this level I was teaching talented students to become artists and performers—pianists, not just piano players.  It was up to them to pull the pieces apart, working on things like phrase shaping, dynamic nuance, and variations in touch.  They chose one such item to work on in a manageable section of the music—say, the exposition section of a sonata instead of the whole ten pages—and when they had accomplished that goal, they were finished with that piece for the day.  On its own, practice time had increased from the 15 minutes or so a day for a beginner to something closer to two hours a day.

            One day a young lady came in so full of herself I knew something was up.  Instead of making me dig through her satchel for the assignment book, she fished it out herself, flipping through to find the correct page and handing it to me with a smug little smile. 

            I had assigned her 200 minutes of practice for the week, with these additional directions:  learn all the black key major scales, hands together, two octaves; memorize the last page of the competition solo she had been working on for two months; and start the rondo movement of her new concerto by playing through the A section everywhere it appeared, in every variation, slowly enough to keep the beat steady and the notes correct.

            I looked at the minute total at the bottom of the page—200 minutes, but I had my suspicions.  She had practiced, according to her record, forty minutes exactly on five different days.  This was the girl whose previous pages seldom showed more than three days of practice, all with odd numbers like 12, 17 or 21, and whose total had never come close to the assigned number.  Each forty minute entry was written in the same bright blue ink, with the same size numbers, and the same slant, as if she had filled them in at the same time one after the other.  The page was clean:  no smears, creases, smudges or erasures, as if this was the first time that page had seen the light of day since I wrote out the original assignment.

            I kept my suspicions to myself for the moment, smiled, and said, “Let’s play.”  That was where her plan fell apart.  Black key majors are the easiest scales to play.  She couldn’t get past the third note.  She could not play the concerto slowly enough NOT to make a mistake and she had exactly two measures of the solo memorized.  How she thought she could fool me into thinking she had practiced nearly 3 ½ hours that week was anyone’s guess.  After being with me for six years, I couldn’t believe she thought I was that dumb.

            And yet we think we can fool God into thinking we practice.  For every one that partakes of milk is without experience of the word of righteousness; for he is a babe. But solid food is for full-grown men, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil, Heb 5:13,14. If that isn’t “practice,” I don’t know what it is.

            If I never improve--if I keep tripping over the same stumblingblock rather than learning to step around it; if I make the same foolish mistakes instead of wising up; if my knowledge remains shallow instead of deepening with understanding through the years; if my faith remains a superficial veneer instead of reaching my heart, how can I even pretend I have been practicing? 

            Goal oriented practice is self-rewarding when it is followed faithfully.  The student himself sees the results and is encouraged to practice more, to gain experience in whatever discipline he is applying himself.  Our practice should be goal-oriented too, and we have abundant motivation, both here and beyond.  But pretending to work at it will not achieve those goals any more than a silly thirteen year old could learn to play a piano concerto by lying about her practice time. 

            Some of us still think that counting how many times a week we assemble is all the practice we need.  But God expects us to get beyond the rote practice of following rules and live the life every minute of every day. He will know when we practice and when we don’t.  It will be obvious to Him, and maybe to everyone else too.
 
And the Lord said, Forasmuch as this people draw nigh with their mouth and with their lips to honor me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear of me is a commandment of men learned by rote; therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvelous work among this people, even a marvelous work and a wonder; and the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid, Isa 29:13,14.
 
Dene Ward

I have been doing a lot of outside reading for some classes I am teaching, and find myself reading blurbs on the backs of these books at odd times, usually when my mind needs a rest from all the scholarly stuff my old and feeble brain is trying to make sense of.  I saw this one a few weeks ago and it stopped me in my tracks.

            “In Story as Torah Gordon Wenham showed how biblical narrative texts little used by ethicists, can inform Christian moral teaching.”  John Barton, University of Oxford.

            In other words, the man has written a book in which he uses the Bible “stories,” as we are prone to call them, to teach us right and wrong.  First, I do understand that the word “inform” has a special meaning in scholarly circles, but it still seems plain to me that the critic is saying that using the Bible this way is highly unusual, in fact, a groundbreaking idea. 

            I sit here wondering why they are reading their Bibles at all if they have not figured this out before.  We do this every Sunday in Bible classes.  I did it every day when my children were growing up.  I do it now when my grandsons come for a visit.  We talk about the Bible narratives and how they teach us we should be behaving in our lives.  We talk about Noah and how “everyone is doing it,” proves that “it” is probably wrong.  We talk about Daniel and how important prayer is, and how God takes care of the faithful.  We talk about Elijah and the One True God.  We talk about Judas and betrayal, about Peter and impetuosity—and then forgiveness.  We talk about Jonah and God’s love for everyone and our responsibility to share that love.  My children grew up knowing what the Bible is for.  What in the world did these people think they should do with it?

            And we can laugh at them and think ourselves so much better than they, but are we?  We know the Bible is to be used to “inform” our lives, but does it?  Does the sermon go in one ear and out the other?  Do the Bible classes become exercises in finding yet another way to bring up my pet hobby, or to show everyone how much I know instead of finding something I need to improve on?  Do I give the right answers and then go out and live the wrong ones?

            Before we laugh at men who have become a little too smart for their own good, let’s check our own behavior.  We may know better, but are we doing it?
 
Now these things took place as examples for us, that we might not desire evil as they did. Do not be idolaters as some of them were; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink and rose up to play.” We must not indulge in sexual immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day. We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did and were destroyed by serpents, nor grumble, as some of them did and were destroyed by the Destroyer. Now these things happened to them as an example, but they were written down for our instruction, on whom the end of the ages has come, 1Cor 10:6-11.
 
Dene Ward

For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, that we should come together in judgment.  There is no umpire between us, that he might lay his hand upon us both, Job 9:32,33.
           
            On October 6, 1845, attorney William R. Wheaton umpired the first recorded “modern” game of base ball (two separate words in those days).  The teams were amateur clubs, and the Knickerbockers Club of New York set forth the rule that there should be three umpires, one chosen by each team, and a neutral referee to decide split decisions.  In 1858, the National Association of Base Ball Players sanctioned a single umpire chosen by the home team with the consent of the rival captain.  And so umpires have been ruling the diamond ever since.

            In those very early days, the umpire was usually a spectator or a player; someone, in other words, who knew the game well, and, even in the case of a spectator, probably had experience playing it.  Who better to understand what was happening?  Would you choose someone off the street who had never even seen a game?  Would you choose someone from another country who could hardly even speak English to make important decisions in a distinctly American pastime?

            And so Job says that we had the same problem under the Old Law—there was no one who understood both sides of the equation.  There was no one who could “lay his hands on both” God and man.

            Then God emptied Himself, taking “the form of a servant,” becoming man, being “tempted in all points like us.”  Finally there was someone who understood both what it was like to be man and what is was like to be God.  He could identify with either and sympathize with both.  Is there anyone any better qualified to be “the one mediator between God and man, himself man, Christ Jesus?”

            We have talked about that often, and read those passages often, but they reminded me of something I need to be careful about.  When I was much younger, I had all the answers.  When someone came to me with a problem, the solution was simple.  “This is what the Bible says to do.  If you don’t, you don’t have enough faith.  Shame on you!”  In every case, I had no experience with the problem they were asking about, and so while I may have had a “right” answer, what I was seriously lacking in was compassion.  I really did not understand the problem because I had never experienced it.  But I am not the only one.  Many of my brethren are notorious for a lack of compassion, for stern reprimands and little understanding.

            Let me say this quickly—having compassion does not mean the right answer changes.  What it does mean is I am less judgmental, more willing to forgive, and far more willing to see a problem through with a brother or sister, no matter how long it takes.  I am far less likely to become exasperated when they need encouragement yet again.  I understand that one long afternoon of counseling doesn’t necessarily make all the ramifications of sin disappear.  I MUST understand that I DON’T really understand and never will, and therefore must be patient.  If God had to become man to understand what it was like to be a man, why do I think I can come running in with my rigid rules and expect a person to suddenly become my idea of the perfect Christian when I have never been in their shoes?  I am one lousy advisor (umpire) if I do.

            Which then, of course, makes me realize how blessed we are to be standing in these “last days,” where we do have that Umpire, who can lay His hands upon us both, and with amazing compassion, understand every problem, every trial, and every failure.  And this Umpire, who is far more merciful than we are, never makes a bad call.
 
Since the children are sharers in flesh and blood, he also himself in like manner partook of the same, that through death he might bring to nought him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; and might deliver all them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage. For verily not to angels does he give help, but he gives help to the seed of Abraham.  Wherefore it behooved him in all things to be made like unto his brethren, that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people.  For in that he himself has suffered being tempted, he is able to succor them that are tempted, Heb 2:14-18.
 
Dene Ward

            Retirement is a wonderful thing.  No more rushing around every morning, swallowing a quick breakfast whole, throwing on an outfit, and rushing out the door after a quick peck on your wife’s cheek.  At least that’s the way it was for Keith for several decades. 

            Now it’s a leisurely breakfast in your pajamas with a second cup of coffee, and then a third out on the carport, watching the birds swoop down in front of us to the bird feeder, hummingbirds battling over their feeder like tiny pilots in fighter planes, and Chloe sitting next to us, her tail swishing sparkly grains of sand over the concrete. 

We have a little ritual with her—three or four doggie treats that Keith sails out toward the flower bed one at a time with her tearing after them, sniffing around in the grass until she finds the morsel, then rolling in the dew wet grass in doggy euphoria before returning to her post at our feet, or even under our chairs—the better to garner a belly rub.

            He always throws the treats in the same direction, slightly south of east, and makes the same whistle like a missile falling to the earth, and she has become habituated to the whole routine.  We did not realize how much until one morning he threw it north of east instead of south.  Even though she watched him do it, she still ran southeast and sniffed the ground in ever widening circles, becoming more and more frustrated when she could not find the treat.  Finally he had to get up and walk in the direction he threw it and call her over.  Eventually her nose found it, but you would have thought we had punished her as she dragged herself back without her customary cheerfulness, her tail sagging almost between her legs.  She was not happy again until he had thrown the next treat in the right direction—translation:  the one she expected.
            Have you ever shown a friend a scripture that teaches something obvious, only to have him say, “I can’t see that?”  Have you ever had her read something out loud only to answer your unspoken comment with, “But I don’t believe it that way?”  Almost unbelievable, isn’t it?  Don’t think for a minute that you are immune to the same failing.  What you can see, what you do believe, depends a whole lot on what you are looking for. 

The worst thing you can do in your Bible study is go searching for something to back up what you already think.  In fact, I often tell brand new classes, “The biggest hindrance to learning is what you think you already know.”  I have had students who were intelligent and sincere look at something everyone else could see but not see it, and nearly every time it is because of some preconceived notion they grew up with or heard somewhere a long time ago and have not been able to let go.  Even something as plain as the nose on their faces.

What you already know will also raise a stop sign in your learning path.  As soon as you find what you thought was there, you will stop looking, when just a little more study and uninhibited consideration would have shown you something brand new.  The same thing happens when you rely on old notes.  You will never see anything new until you rid yourself of old ideas.  You will never find a deeper understanding if you think you have already dredged as far as you can go.

Jesus said, “For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind,” John 9:39.  He was not talking to unbelievers.  He was not talking to pagans.  He was talking to people who thought they knew God’s word inside out, who could quote whole books, who kept the law in the minutest detail, proud of how exact they were—even beyond exact—and the fact that they were children of Abraham.  Guess who that translates to today? 

When was the last time you learned anything new?  Thought any new thoughts?  Discovered any new connections in the scriptures?  When was the last time you changed your mind about something?  Can you see it if it’s thrown in a direction you never thought of before, or are you as blind as those people who were sure they knew what their Messiah would look like and how he would act?  When he came out of left field, they were lost.  How about you?
 
…and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself…? Rom 2:19-21.
 
Dene Ward
 

Seems like every August one of the morning network shows will have a spot on what to do with all those tomatoes.  Unfortunately, those shows usually air from New York City where they seem to think that everyone thinks like they do and lives like they do, and that even the weather follows suit.  New York City must be the center of the universe.  
    Down here in Florida our tomatoes are 1 to 2 months gone by the time those shows air, depending upon the year.  We eat and give away those perfectly formed, unblemished firstfruits from the last week of May till halfway through June.  Then I spend a week canning tomatoes with the plum varieties, and a few days on specialty items like salsa and tomato jam.  Another week using up the end of the year uglies on sauce, and that’s that.  It’s a rare year that I have tomatoes after the Fourth of July.
    And guess what?  In the south part of this long state, things are different still.  Tomato season Is different for every location and climate.
    It’s like that for Christians too.  Not only do different spiritual ages have differing levels of understanding, but even different locations fight different battles.  A long time ago, we moved north.  Talk about culture shock.  Not only did I see my first snow, we had to fight heresies that had been fought down south ten years earlier.  You can see those things happen in the New Testament too, as trouble travels from city to city.  
    We can also discover exactly how patient—or impatient—we are with our brothers and sisters.  I forget how long it took me to reach this point and expect it of them in a few short weeks.  I become annoyed with their failures and with their lack of understanding.  Somehow I expect them to leapfrog a few decades and catch up.
That is not how it works, and we must make allowances.  It may mean we are more careful in our decision making, and it may mean we give up our liberties.  It’s one thing to be held hostage by the views of the stubborn who claim they are “offended;” it’s quite another to trample on the fragile souls of those new in the faith, who are still grappling with the baggage they have not quite left behind.  
And let us not deter, or even discourage completely, their salvation with some manmade list of things they should know before we accept them into our congregations.  Smacks a little of catechism class, doesn’t it?  Just how much do you think that Philippian jailor knew when Paul baptized him “in the same hour of the night?”  Enough to understand his need for a Savior and how to contact that redeeming blood.  He had a lifetime to learn the rest.
    Tomato season for me is not tomato season for you, and my Christian age is not the same as yours.  If you expect a green tomato to taste like one that has been vine-ripened in a home garden, you are not as wise as you think you are.

We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, “The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me,  Rom 15:1-3.

Dene Ward

Many years ago we lived in an old frame house in front of a train track, on a corner lot right next to the crossing.  The boys were four and two, and they loved to run outside as soon as they heard the horn so they could wave to the engineer and watch the cars pass—boxcars, flatcars, tankers, and finally the caboose, usually with another trainman standing on its “back porch,” who also received an excited wave.  Before a week had passed, those men were craning their necks, looking for the two towheaded little boys so they could be sure to wave back. We learned the train schedule quickly:  one every morning about 8:30, one every afternoon about 4:00, and one every Saturday about midnight.  
    That first Saturday night train took about ten years off my life.  I came up out of a deep sleep when the horn sounded.  We had only been in the house two days and in the fog of sleep, I did not know where I was or what was happening.  Then I heard that train getting closer and closer, louder and louder.  I realized what it was then, but my perspective was so out of whack that it sounded like the train was headed straight for the middle of the house.  I sat straight up, frozen in terror until it had passed.
    Within two weeks I was sleeping through the din.  Not even the sudden wail of the horn woke me. During the day it took the tug of a little hand on my shirttail for me to hear the train coming so we could go out and wave.  Your mind tunes out what it doesn’t want to hear, and does a grand job of it.
    How many times do we tune out people?  When we learn another’s pet peeves, the things he goes on about at the least provocation, we no longer listen.  If we have the misfortune to deal with someone who nags, we tune that out.  Maybe we should learn the lesson to choose our battles.  If we want what we say to matter to people, don’t go on and on about the trivial or they will have tuned us out long ago and never hear the things they really need to hear.  Parents need to learn that.
    Then there is the matter of tuning out God.  Oh, we all want to hear how Jesus loved the sinners, but let’s not hear His command to, “Go thy way and sin no more.”  Let’s remind ourselves that the apostle Paul was not above preaching to some of the vilest sinners in the known world, fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, effeminate, abusers of themselves with men, thieves, covetous, drunkards, revilers, extortioners.  But let’s ignore the fact that he says they changed:  such were some of you; let’s ignore the fact that he said that in their prior state they were unrighteous and could not inherit the kingdom of God, 1 Cor 6:9-11.  That’s just one of the many things people don’t hear.
    Today, maybe we should ask ourselves what it is we don’t want to hear.  I imagine that it is the very thing we need to hear the most.

Why do you not understand my speech?  Because you cannot hear my word. He that is of God hears the words of God: for this cause you hear not, because you are not of God, John 8:43,47.

Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

More and more I hear people talk about how “the Lord opened a door to me,” or some variation such as, “This is an opportunity from the Lord.”

My first thought was how nice it is that more and more people are putting the Lord God into their decisions and their lives on an everyday basis. Then, further, that it was nice that they were not too scared of being labeled “Pentecostal” to talk about God working through them.

But then I began to wonder how I am to know whether a door is an opportunity from God or whether it is an open trap from Satan. Of course, if the thing is wrong in and of itself, we can be sure. But, not all Satan’s traps are baited with lusts/evil; some are baited with distractions and time-wasters and faith-weakening actions that are not of themselves sinful. We do agree that God is not whispering the answer in our heads so how can we know?

Well, the Apostle Paul could not tell according to Acts 16. He started for Asia. To all measurements this holy man could take, Asia was the door. The Spirit had to say, “No.” Later Paul would call Ephesus a “great door and effectual,” but not yet, the Spirit said. Then he looked to Bithynia for it likewise seemed to be an opportunity for the gospel, but again the Spirit said, “No.” Finally we know the Spirit led him to Philippi. None of the choices was sinful, but only one was God’s door at that time. Absent such a direct leading from God, no one can know whether a thing is a door or a side road into a bog, not even so spiritual a man as the Apostle Paul.

Some have so fiercely latched onto the idea that their choice is an opportunity from God that even advice from sincere, older, godly men with a whole lot more experience is denounced with, “You do not have enough faith.”

Does no one else see the potential for an almost arrogant spirit in this attitude? First, God chose ME. Second, I listen to no one, not even brethren with knowledge, brethren with love for the Lord and love for me. Third, I turn it into a matter of faith and I have enough to make it go. Often, when the door slams, the opportunity sinks without a trace, and their faith goes with it.

Looking back through my life, I can discern a few times that now appear to me to have been God’s door of opportunity. But is that how God views them? Again, I see many times I slogged through the bog, slowed by mud and briars and in danger of varmints. But, is that how God views those times?

I doubt that at 11:30 pm, Paul and Silas, being in severe pain from a beating and after hours of being locked in stocks, were thinking of their inner prison as a door of opportunity. By dawn, they knew that it had been. All we can do is the thing they did—however they could at that moment they served the Lord. They sang and prayed. Wherever we are, we need to be doing what we can, making the best decisions we can to accomplish God’s work. We must not let ourselves become too enthusiastic, and certainly not too arrogant, to hear wisdom.

Keith Ward

I was a timid child, especially around my peers, and I wasn’t much braver when I grew up.  But God puts something in mothers that is fearsome.  There is a reason people say that the most dangerous creature is a mother who thinks her young are threatened.  All of us in the ladies’ Bible class call it “the mama bear” in us.
    
Once we lived in a big old frame house on a rural highway, a dirt road running down the edge of the side yard to its north.  Lucas at four was already a tree climber and the small chinaberry in that section of the lawn was a favorite.  He could reach the lowest limb standing flat-footed on the ground, then swing his legs up to it to hang upside down, pull himself up to sit or even stand on that long sturdy branch.

    One afternoon he was playing in the tree when a group of boys came walking down the dirt road.  There were four of them, ninth or tenth grade teenagers, every one of them bigger and heavier than I.  They must not have seen me among the sheets and towels as I hung out the last load of laundry.  Surely they would have known better than to start teasing a small child with his mother present.  Very quickly the name-calling and threatening turned into all four of them coming at my little guy with arms raised.  What were they thinking?

    I emerged from the folds of flapping laundry breathing fire and probably screaming like a banshee—my memory of the event is just a little foggy.  I do remember that four young toughs wilted before my eyes, turned tail and ran.  I grabbed my baby, ran up the back porch steps into the kitchen and sank into a chair, rocking him as the slam of the screen door echoed through the old house.

    I was thoroughly shaken, not by the boys, but by my own actions.  Where in the world had that come from?  It came from God, the strength to overcome a timid nature and forget your own safety in order to protect your small, innocent child who is unable to protect himself.  We all have that Mama Bear somewhere inside us.  I doubt we could keep it hidden if we wanted to when the need for it arose.

    God put that feeling in us, so surely it must be in Him.  Yet somehow He managed to ignore it.  His Son’s life was not only threatened, but taken in a horrible, painful way, and He managed somehow to stifle that strong, boiling emotion that rises out of you in an almost uncontrollable manner.

    And do you know why?  Because when Satan came after us, his adopted children, He didn’t stifle it, but instead gave free rein to the Mama Bear in Himself.  He loved us so much He found a way to save us, even at an almost unbearable cost.

    Think about that the next time you want to rail at God for the pain you think He has caused you.  We caused Him much more pain and He loves us anyway.

Herein was the love of God manifested in us, that God has sent his only begotten Son into the world that we might live through him.  Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins, 1 John 4:9,10.

Dene Ward

Entitlement—the belief that one is inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment.

    I wish I had a nickel for every conservative politician, even every Christian, I’ve heard complaining about people who have entitlement issues.  The ones who act like the world owes them a living; like they should never have to reap the consequences of their sown wild oats; who think that having money or, interestingly enough, NOT having money, makes them exempt from the laws of the land.  While I find myself agreeing with most of those opinions, I also see this:  every one of them, politician and Christian alike, has an entitlement issue of his own.

    First there is the husband who wants everything done in a certain way, even if it is a lot more work for his wife; who demands certain foods cooked a certain way and served with certain other foods or he refuses to eat it; who requires every item of clothing pressed, even if they are permanent press and no one else will know the difference; who wants his big boy toys because he’s “worked hard and earned it,” even if it means others in the family will do without.  After all, he is the head of the house.

    Then there is the wife who wants everything the neighbors have, even if the neighbor makes a lot more money; who thinks she must have plenty of time and money allotted for preening; who considers sacrificing for her family a kind of torture; who believes that life is for recreation and begrudges every minute she must spend caring for the children or keeping the house or cooking meals; who recites her list of woes to anyone who will listen every time she has the opportunity so she can be properly pitied and praised for dealing with them.  After all no one should have to go without a new pair of shoes for every outfit.

    And don’t forget the children these two raise:  selfish, materialistic whiners who are never satisfied; who think that their parents owe them every new electronic gizmo the world creates; and who never once utter the word, “Thank you,” much less actually treat their parents with enough respect and courtesy to even look up from their phones and carry on a civil conversation.  After all, they didn’t ask to be born so they deserve everything they want to make up for it.

    Do you think these attitudes hasn’t invaded the church?  Where do you think we get those members who refuse to do as they are asked for the sake of visitors from the community?  Why, no one can have my perfect parking place (under the shade tree) or my perfect seat (in the rear).  Why do you think we have people who treat their precious opinions like the first principles of Christianity—basic and undeniable, and shame on anyone who isn’t as enlightened as I am?  Where do they come from, the people who will raise an argument about the trivial just to show their smarts and regardless of who may need the larger point being made?  Or the ones who, when they suffer, raise their fists at God and complain, “I’ve served you all my life.  Why me?” as if they could have ever earned any blessing at all?

    And why do you think we have such a hard time overcoming a single besetting sin?  “That’s just the way I am,” we think, as if the Lord should count Himself blessed to have us and overlook it.

    Yes, we are all guilty.  And what does Jesus have to say about that when he hears us pontificating about “those people” with entitlement issues?
Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye, Matt 7:3-5.

    Be careful the next time you rant about entitlement.

Dene Ward

            Summer thunderstorms are nothing unusual in Florida.  Even when we don’t have a hurricane, we can count on dark skies, roiling clouds, strong winds, and heavy downpours almost every afternoon from June through September.  This summer seems to have been worse than usual.

            Just in the past four days we have had two storms that knocked the power out for a total of seven hours, with two plus inches falling in an hour’s time.  In fact, this last time we had an inch and a half in thirty minutes flat.  The water ran down from the top of the hill in a river around the house and down to the creek just past the boundary fence.  The wind blew the rain in vertical sheets, leaving standing water an inch deep on the covered carport, and the screened porch floor wet to the wall of the house.  The wind blew in gusts that twisted fifteen foot long pine limbs off the trees—green limbs, not rotten ones.  Smaller limbs flew by as we watched, almost as thick as the rainwater.  The lightning was loud and close and almost constant.  When I stepped inside and saw the power was out I was not really surprised.  This was one angry storm.

            And suddenly I thought, “This was the kind of rain Noah lived through.”  God was angry.  He would not have sent a gentle patter of raindrops on that gopher wood roof.  His wrath would have been obvious in the gusty winds tearing roofs off houses and branches off trees.  He would have vented his anger in the boom of thunder rolling over the hills, hills that slowly and inevitably disappeared under the waves.  That last storm we had scared me just a little; I bet the one Noah endured for forty days was terrifying.

            And we need to be terrified too.  An angry God is not the God we want to face on judgment day.  Do not let the world, and sometimes even the brethren, blur your view of an irate God who cannot countenance sin.  You need that picture to keep you straight sometimes, and so do I.  It’s too easy to think, “This is no big deal; God won’t mind this once; God is a God of mercy,” and forget the God of wrath and vengeance.  Don’t let anyone turn “fear” into nothing more than respect.  You can love someone and fear them too.  Anyone who had a godly father knows that.  Don’t let them lie to you and steal your soul by telling you otherwise.

            By the end of summer I am ready for a calm fall.  I want sunny days and gentle breezes.  I am sure that’s what we want from God too, but just as those storms do good for this land—replenishing the water table and keeping the tropical plants green—remembering the stormy wrath of God can do your soul good too.  Don’t forget it.

Therefore thus says the Lord GOD: I will make a stormy wind break out in my wrath, and there shall be a deluge of rain in my anger, and great hailstones in wrath to make a full end, Ezek 13:13.

But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints. Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving. For you may be sure of this, that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous ( that is, an idolater), has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience, Eph 5:3-6.

Dene Ward