Flight Paths

Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.

First we must first back up to chapter 40.

In verse two God challenges Job to answer His first speech and Job's answer is inadequate, to say the least: Job 40:4-5 "Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth. I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but I will proceed no further." At first this doesn't seem so bad; Job is acknowledging his smallness before God and that he doesn't have the right to speak. But look again. God has demanded Job speak, and Job refuses. Oh, he coaches it in respectful sounding words, 'I am small, I cannot answer', but he is refusing to answer God's speech because he knows he can't.

One commentator likened this to a child who was caught doing something wrong and won't talk back to his parents, but won't acknowledge wrong either and is just sullenly waiting out the tongue lashing. "Saving up more spit". God's second speech reflects this in Job, as well. While the first speech contained its share of sarcasm, it was largely in a teaching mode. God's second speech, 40:6-41:34, is downright angry at the beginning and harsher throughout. For example Job 40:8-9 "Will you even put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be in the right? Have you an arm like God, and can you thunder with a voice like his?" 41:10b "Who then is he who can stand before me?" Also, think about this: if Job had responded in the way God wanted, why did God bother to deliver a second speech? I know that if fits in the poetic structure of the book, but the book was designed around what actually happened, it didn't change what happened to fit the book. Otherwise the scripture is untrue. So therefore God gave a second speech to Job, a harsher speech, because Job didn't respond properly after the first time.

That leads us to Job 42:1-6 and Job's second response to God which is totally different from his first response. He quotes two of God's challenges to him and acknowledges that God was right to call him into question and that he was wrong. Job then "repent[ed] in dust and ashes". Once Job acknowledged his sin and repented, it was over as far as God was concerned. The next thing we see is God elevating Job before the friends as they are told to take sacrifices to Job and "my servant Job" would pray for them and "I will accept his prayer". If we acknowledge our sins before him and repent, God will forgive us completely (1 John 1:9) and Job is the perfect example of that.

Then we see that Job's family, which had formerly deserted him (19:13-14), finally shows up and helps him out, each giving Job a "piece of money". That very phrase lets us know that Job is an ancient book. Pretty much all money mentioned in the Bible from the time of the Judges onward was referred to by specific names, e.g. shekel, talent, etc. "Piece of money" was used in very ancient times before nation-states began to codify money. The only other uses of it in the Bible are in Genesis 33:19 and Joshua 24:32. After that more regular denominations of monies are usually used. (You will find "piece of silver" a few times, but the Hebrew word, and the implication, is different.) This seems to point to the fact that Job occurred previous to the time of Joshua. Another hint at the time Job lived comes in verse 16 which says he lived 140 years after these things took place. No one knows how old Job was before his test took place, but he was old enough to have 10 adult children, so he was no spring chicken. Some have suggested that since his wealth was doubled after his test was over, his life span after it was doubled also, so he was 70 when Job 1 began. I don't know if that has any merit, but it is hard so believe he was much younger than 70 given the fact of his adult children. It seems likely that he died being at least 200 years old. Given the diminishing lifespans of the patriarchs from the time immediately after the flood (600) to the time of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (175, 180, and 147 respectively) it seems likely that Job lived just prior to Abraham. (Terah, Abraham's father, died at 205.) When was the book written? Who knows, but Job that lived in the patriarchal age seems almost certain from these and other clues.

Job had three daughters after his test and he apparently loved them greatly. They received an inheritance with their brothers, which was unheard of even in the Mosaic Law, and their names also bear out his love for them: Jemimah, Keziah, and Keren-happuch. (Jemimah was almost certainly an aunt many times over but, as far as we know, she never made pancake syrup.) Jemimah means "day" indicating either that she was as beautiful as the day or that she symbolized Job emerging from his period of night. Keziah means "cassia" which was a bark used to make very expensive perfume. It indicates her value to him. Finally Keren-happuch means "horn of stibium". Stibium was a very valuable eye make-up that was highly prized for its enhancement of the eye's natural beauty. It was applied by dipping a wedge into the stibium and then putting the wedge between the eyelids and closing the eyes tightly onto the wedge, which then colored the eyelids like modern eye liner and eye shadow do. If the horn of stibium refers to the container of the makeup, then Keren-happuch's name is another reference to her value and esteem before her father. If the horn referred to the applicator then the name not only indicates her value but also implies that she made those around her more beautiful by her presence. Job obviously loved his daughters.

Lucas Ward

Keith noticed it first, a dove that sat quiet and almost still on the ground beneath one of the hanging bird feeders.  While other doves and a bevy of cardinals hopped around him pecking at the ground, then flying up and down from the feeder, he barely moved a foot in two hours, and always one small, hesitant hop at a time.  By early evening most of the other birds were gone, finished with their free supper and off to find a good roosting place for the night, but he still sat there.
           
            By then I was a little worried.  I grabbed the binoculars for a closer look.  He had puffed himself up twice his size as birds will do in the winter to keep warm.  But it was still early September and the humid evening air hovered in the upper 80s.  Suddenly his head popped up, stretching out his neck just a bit, and then immediately back into the folds of feathers around his shoulders.  As I continued to watch I noticed it every five minutes or so.  It almost looked like he had hiccups, but somehow I did not think that was the problem.  Something worse was happening.

            Near dusk he suddenly flew straight up to the feeder itself.  Instead of perching on the outer rung designed for a bird to curl its feet around and be able to lean forward to eat from the small trough that ran around the bottom of the feeder, he flew into the trough itself, hunched down, and leaned against the clear plastic walls of the feeder.  Then he became completely still—no more twitching or bouncing.  I watched until it was too dark to see any longer. 

            The next morning I went out with my pail of birdseed to refill all the feeders around the house.  There beneath the feeder lay the now much smaller body of the dove.  Sometime in the night he had died and fallen off the feeder.  We carefully disposed of the small body for the sake of the other birds and our Chloe just in case it had carried a contagious illness.  It was a sad moment.  I couldn’t help but think, “You weren’t alone, little guy.  We watched you and we cared.”

            We weren’t the only ones watching.  Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father, Matt 10:29.  God notices when every little bird falls to the ground.  And never forget the lesson Jesus draws from that:  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows, Matt 10:30-31.

            Dying alone has become a metaphor for a purposeless existence. “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone,” (Orson Welles).

            It’s used to depict life and death as a beginning and end that you cannot effect one way or the other.  “Don’t expect anyone to stick around.  You were born alone and you will die alone,” (Anonymous).

            It’s used as a desperate pitiful plea for someone to care:  “I just don’t want to die alone, that’s all.  That’s not too much to ask for, is it?  It would be nice to have someone care for me, for who I am, not about my wallet,” (Richard Pryor).

            It’s used to show the meaninglessness of life:  “At the end, we all die alone,” (Anonymous).

            Is it any wonder that skeptics and atheists commit suicide?  None of these things is true for a Christian. 

            For the LORD loves justice; he will not forsake his saints. They are preserved forever… Ps 37:28.

            Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you, Heb 13:5.

            Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go, Josh 1:9.

            Sometimes we can quote passages like these until we are blue in the face, but when the hour of trial comes, any sort of trial, and no one stands with us, we allow the physical eye to fool us into believing we are alone.  We need to learn to see with spiritual eyes like our Lord did:  Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me, John 16:32.  We are the only ones who can take that promise away—when we don’t believe it.  With God a believer is never alone no matter how much vacant space surrounds him.

            If God promised to watch for every fallen bird, He will watch for me.  Even if some day I breathe my last breath in an otherwise empty room, I can know that Someone cares enough to be nearby, watching and waiting to take me home.
 
Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints, Ps 116:15.
And I will gather you to your fathers…2 Chron 34:28.
 
Dene Ward

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