Flight Paths

            Do you want to know what the word “relative” means?  Just follow me around for awhile and listen to the doctors. 

            Many years ago we moved a thousand miles and I went to a new ophthalmologist for the first time.  Unfortunately, my file did not make it before the appointment.  The doctor looked at my eyes and the contacts I was wearing at the time and shook his head.  “Who fit these?  He obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

            A week later I returned to his office.  He had received the file and read it through, noting the nanophthalmic eyes and the incredibly steep corneas.  “Your doctor is a genius,” he pronounced.  “I don’t know how he did this.  You shouldn’t even be able to wear contact lenses, but had he not been able to do it, you would be blind by now.”  Nothing about my eyes changed, but the doctor’s opinion certainly did.

            Then there was the difference between the lens implant surgeon in Cincinnati and my glaucoma surgeon.  The first considered the lens implant almost a failure because my nanophthalmus had skewed the formulas and I still could not see well.  The second considered it a success because I could still see at all. 

            Only a few weeks ago, I had a visit with the retina guru after a “retina event” as they called it in the glaucoma hall.  The tech there declared it impossible for the doctor to be able to see into “these tiny little pupils.  You will most certainly need to be dilated.”  (This, in spite of the fact that my chart is stamped in large, red, capital letters DO NOT DILATE.)   The retina doctor knew better than to dilate someone with my symptoms and overruled her.  Later, when the glaucoma doctor looked into my eyes, he said, “What are they complaining about?  These are nice big pupils.”  Of course, he has been dealing with them for years.

            You see, good for me is bad for you, at least at the ophthalmologist’s office.    

            Many things are like that.  If you’re from the north, you think Florida winters are warm and springs are hot.  If you are from Florida, you think the northeast is arid.  You would probably turn to dust the minute you walked into Arizona.  And because we understand the concept of relativity, we have a tendency not to see the awfulness of sin, particularly our own.  I’m not bad, we think.  I haven’t murdered anyone, I haven’t stolen from anyone.  I don’t lie—well, at least not big black lies.  And there we go excusing ourselves because we can always find someone worse than we are.  Paul, in another context, mentions those who measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, concluding that they are without understanding, 2 Cor 10:12.  We are too, if we think we can get to Heaven by comparing our lives to anything other than God’s standard

            Nothing is relative when it comes to sin.  When we think we can decide which sins need to be repented of and which don’t, when we think we can choose a standard of our own, whether a person or a personal credo, when we think we are the ones who get to draw the line, God will not tolerate even what we consider the tiniest of sins.  To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a sin by any other name will still rise as a stench in the nostrils of God.

            There is nothing relative about sin.  It is a theory that will always prove false.

For whoever shall keep the whole law yet stumble in one point, he has become guilty of it all.  For he who said, Do not commit adultery, also said, Do not kill.  Now if you do not commit adultery but you do kill, you have become a transgressor of the law.  So speak and so do as men who are to be judged by a perfect law of liberty, James 2:10-12.

Dene Ward

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            Girls raised in the South, or GRITS as one of my coffee mugs calls them, are some of the strongest people on this earth.  These women were nurtured on grits, greens, cornbread and chores from the time they could chew.  They work hard and long without complaint.  They know that getting dirty is healthy and sweat is not a terminal disease so they don’t avoid either one.  They can hoe row after row in the hot sun, shell beans till midnight, can, blanch, and preserve in a steamy kitchen for hours, cook for an army every night, and then clean it all up and start over the next morning. 

            They show up like magic when others are hurting and do whatever needs doing.  They find their way in any kitchen, heating up casseroles seasoned with love and tears, stirring pots of vegetables flavored with fatback, slicing tall layer cakes and mile high meringue pies, sinking their arms in a sink full of suds, and grabbing up a basket of laundry on their way out the door to be returned clean, mended, ironed, and folded before the house of mourning even realizes the clothes are missing. 

            They will take anyone’s children in their laps and dry up tears, listen to sad stories, and tell a few funny ones to bring back the smiles.  They bandage skinned knees and aren’t too prissy to change a needful baby’s diapers, no matter who it belongs to.  They will even offer a little discipline on little bottoms that think since Mama’s not around no one else cares—they care.  They can play tag, hide and seek, and red rover, make mudpies and sand castles, and then go home and finish whatever needs doing, no matter how late it gets.  They will stay up all night with anyone who needs it, then get up and go again as if nothing has happened.

            How do they do it?  The women I grew up watching had one magic ingredient—love—love that involved selflessness, strength, and purpose, and was borne from the heat of life.  Maybe living in the South made that come more naturally, just as the southern heat and humidity makes the sweat pour more profusely. 

            God applies the heat to us as well.  In Isa 48:10, God told His people,   Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction. Affliction hurts.  It burns in a flash and roasts in constant pain and fear.  But eventually, the heat refines our souls and makes them pure and strong.

            What, you think it unfair that God would do this?  Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.  If He would do it to His own Son, who are we to get some sort of special dispensation?  In fact, the special dispensation is in the trials.  If God never put us through these things, we would be weaklings, always babes, never maturing to spirituality.  Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

            There is another result from all this fiery testing, perhaps the best result of all.  God speaks of a group of His people in Zech 13:9, saying, And I will put this third into the fire, and refine them as one refines silver, and test them as gold is tested. They will call upon my name, and I will answer them. I will say, 'They are my people'; and they will say, 'The LORD is my God.'"  I will go through whatever it takes to have Him declare me His child and answer my call, won’t you?

            Even now, as the long hot summer approaches, I am ready for it.  It reminds me that just as the southern heat strengthens my body, the spiritual heat can work wonders on my soul.  I know from watching both of my grandmothers, and my mother and aunts.  I know from working side by side with other women as we toil for our families and neighbors, and for the Lord, too, as we serve our brethren. 

            You need to become comfortable with the fire.  If you can’t stand the heat, the kitchen is the least of your worries.

Each one's work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. 1 Corinthians 3:13

Dene Ward

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(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

            “Lose up to ten pounds the first week!  No dieting!  No exercise!  Eat what you like.  One pill a day will give you the body you have always dreamed of!”

            It’s sad how many people believe those ads.  But it is understandable too.  No one wants to change his lifestyle.  No one wants to go hungry and sweat.  Everyone wants to eat the good stuff and take a magic pill to cure their obesity.

            I know a few people who have that problem with sin too.  They don’t want to change their lives.  They don’t want to admit they even need to change.  They certainly don’t want to make the effort in study, prayer, self-examination, and true repentance.  They think they have the “magic pill,” and here is what it is.

            I can go merrily along if I remember to pray for forgiveness every night, especially for my “secret sins.” 

            I can live my life as I wish as long as I show up Sunday morning and take the Lord’s Supper.

            I can even play at repentance by talking about my imperfections and making statements like, “I know I am a sinner,” so no one can quote 1 John 1:8 at me.

            I have seen it too many times over the years.  I have even done it myself.  I know I am not perfect so a quick prayer for forgiveness every day should take care of the problem.  Far be it from me to actually admit anything specific and work on it.  Have you noticed this about people like that?  Sooner or later they make a statement like this, “If I’ve sinned, I’m sorry.”  They’ve taken yet another diet pill and expect a 15 pound loss of sin in one short minute.

            The real weight loss programs out there are all about accountability.  You show up, you weigh in, you talk about exactly what you have eaten and not eaten, and how much exercise you have or have not had.  Those people tend to lose the weight and keep it off longer.  They understand that this is a lifestyle change, not a magic pill.  And they take responsibility for their actions, both good and bad.

            That’s exactly the way overcoming sin works.  “Confess your faults one to another,” James tells us, “and pray for one another” (5:16)   Everyone participates and everyone helps.

             “Bring forth fruit worthy of repentance,” John told the masses (Matt 3:8).  A quick little prayer or a ritual offering was only the beginning of a lifestyle change that was supposed to be obvious to everyone from then on.

            I’ve heard brethren criticize the Catholic religion as one of convenience.  “You can live as you like as long as you confess every week and do penance.”  Some of us don’t even want to do that much.  Confession is humiliating.  Doing penance is hard work.  It’s far easier to pray for forgiveness every night and show up every Sunday for those few magic bites.  Don’t tell me we aren’t as bad they are—we’re worse!

            Satan is the one who puts out those ads for sin’s magic pills.  Don’t be a “patsy.”  No one is sure where the term came from.  Some suggest it is from the Italian word pazzo.  Do you know what that word means?  “Fool.”  Sounds to me like the perfect word. 

For godly sorrow works repentance unto salvation, a repentance which brings no regret: but the sorrow of the world works death. For behold, this selfsame thing, that you were made sorry after a godly sort, what earnest care it wrought in you, yea what clearing of yourselves, yea what indignation, yea what fear, yea what longing, yea what zeal, yea what avenging! In everything you approved yourselves to be pure in the matter. 2 Corinthians 7:10-11.

Dene Ward       

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            Keith called me outside one Saturday.  I was in the middle of something important and was a little irritated. It is hard enough to do things these days when I have to lean so close, squint so hard, and put up with the resulting headaches trying to see what I am doing.  Then he wants to interrupt me, and I will just have to start all over again.  But I sighed, a louder one than was called for, and dutifully went outside.

            The afternoon sun was waning, for which I was grateful.  No matter how dim the day I have to reach for sunglasses nearly all the time now.  He took me to a shaded spot on the west side of the field and pointed.  Then I saw it, or them as it turned out, probably a hundred dragonflies darting here and there all over the place. 

            He felt bad for me because I could not see them all the time.  In fact, I would not have known what they were had he not told me, but I think my vision of them was the best.  He saw them in the shade as well, when they once again became ugly black bugs, but I only saw them as they came out of the shadows, the sun striking their wings and lighting them up like tiny golden light bulbs.  Then they would disappear, but more would appear in their place, over and over, darting here and there in movements no one could possibly predict.  I think my view was much more magical than his, and therefore far more delightful.  We stood there watching them for several minutes.  I probably could have stood their longer since I had the better view, a view he would never have because he could see so well.

            No matter what we may be going through in this life, God always prepares good things for us, but we will never see them if we always stay inside ourselves, commiserating with ourselves, rewinding over and over the tape of all our troubles till we can recite them from memory to anyone who asks, and even some who don’t.  There is a silver lining somewhere if we just search, and in the searching who knows what treasures we might find? Besides, it will keep us too busy to complain so much.

            Go out there today and look for those silver linings—or the golden dragonflies, or whatever God has specially prepared to help you through this day.  You will find them, but only if you have a mind to.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.  Psalm 23:5,6.

Dene Ward

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Today’s post is by guest writer Keith Ward

            The title tends to be a phrase we rush through between the glory and fear we express at the thought that we can call God our father and explanations why it is or is not proper to say, “Thy Kingdom come” (1Pet 1:17).  Who is even sure what “hallowed” means any way?

            Bible dictionaries say, “To causatively make, pronounce or observe as clean,” or, “To set aside for divine service.”  We are more familiar with the thought, “to make holy,” but have no better understanding of what we must do in a practical way to accomplish this.  One gains a better understanding by reading through all those dull rules in Exodus and Leviticus:

            The Tabernacle was made holy because God was there and all who touched the altar were hallowed by that act.

            If Israel was to be called God’s people, they had to show proper respect for His holiness by keeping themselves clean.  The lists of rules that one must obey to be clean, and the meticulous rituals for purification of uncleanness emphasize the separateness of God and how special it is to be called his people – special and fearful.

            One who violated the hallowed nature of the Sabbath in a minor way was stoned (Num 15:32) and one who was unclean in the most minor way could not partake of the Passover even if his uncleanness happened by accident (Num 6:6-8; 9:6).

            As generations passed, Israel became less awed to be God’s possession and less careful to hallow God by their actions. Finally came the day that God had enough and left the temple; neither it nor the people would any longer be hallowed by his presence among them (Ezek 8-10). In the course of His departure, God ordered a slaughter similar to that for the sin of Baal-Peor (Num 25:1-9; Ezek 9:1-6). As He instructed the angels to spare those with His mark from the divine slaughter, we learn what God considers the true hallowing of his name: “Set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry over all the abominations that are done.” It clearly was not sufficient to refrain from most of the sins; it was not even enough to avoid them all.  One had to be in abject mourning that those things were being done at all. Then, and only then was the name of God hallowed.

            So, now, how do we feel about saying, “Hallowed be thy name?” Do we measure up any better than those Israelites did?  Going to service of the church and sincerely clearing our minds of all worldly thoughts and cares to truly worship is not enough to hallow God.  Refraining from the various evils in our society is not enough.  Saying these 4 words—Hallowed be thy name—demands that we mourn that sin is being committed at all, anywhere, by anyone, for all are in the presence of God.  

            How can we claim we mourn the sins when we laugh at them on our favorite sitcoms?  Is it an expression of our sorrow at the lusts of the world to peruse the swimsuit issue or watch the lingerie TV specials?  Can we claim to be hallowed by having touched the presence of God on Sunday if we appear at the beach scantily clad during the week?  Will praying a lot and studying a lot make up for all the ways we show that we wish we could participate in these things, if only….?  Where will the “man with the writer’s inkhorn” find anyone to mark among us?

Keith Ward

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            I was sound asleep when it started.  I knew I was asleep but somehow I carried on a regular conversation with myself. 

            “You are too asleep to do anything about this.  Even if you woke Keith up, he could not hear you.  Maybe you could point.”  So I whacked him across the chest with my left arm.  He sat straight up in bed shouting, “Hunh?  What’s happening?”  He turned on the light.

            By then it had started.  I was still asleep, but I was bouncing rhythmically and grunting, “Uh—uh—uh” with every bounce.  He thought I was having convulsions and about to die.

            “What’s wrong?  What’s wrong?  What’s wrong?!!!” 

            I was still asleep and could not answer him.  Even if I had been awake, I probably could not have said anything.  It hurt that badly.  Finally I managed to point (still sleeping), and somehow—being married for 39 years maybe?—he figured it out.  I had a charley horse.  But which leg?  He just grabbed the one nearest and started pushing against my heel and rubbing my calf muscle.  He got the right leg—actually the left leg, but it was the right one.

            Finally I woke up.  I lifted my toes and pushed against his hand.  Five minutes later it was over with, but I still had a knot in my calf muscle the next morning and it took fifteen minutes before I could walk flat-footed.

            Charley horses must be the worst pain possible for something that is so harmless.  They will not kill you—you just wish they would for a minute or two.  Then you realize that it will soon be over and everything will be fine.

            That is the way the early Christians dealt with trials and persecution.  Peter says, now for a little while, if necessary, you have been put to grief in many trials.  He recognized that they were grievous, they did hurt, but they were only “for a little while.”  After telling his readers that they would suffer, the Hebrew writer says, For you have need of patience, that, having done the will of God, you may receive the promise. For yet a very little while, He who comes shall come, and shall not tarry Heb 10:36,37.

            Sometimes that grief is tremendous.  It certainly was for those Christians.  We all recognize that we must die.  We know that one or the other spouse will, in most cases, go before the other.  That is normal.  We all know that we will bury our parents.  That is the natural order.  It still hurts, but we understand it.  When the unnatural happens, it hurts even more.  I have known women who dealt with widowhood in their 30s and 40s.  My own in-laws buried a ten year old daughter whom cancer had stolen from them.  I cannot imagine the pain.  I know one good sister who had to endure both of those things—a widow at 40 and an only child, a daughter, who died unexpectedly a long time before she did.

            How did she make it?  She realized that these trials are transitory.  They do not last.  That trite old saying is trite because it is true, “This too will pass.”  Only one thing lasts—the joy we will have as we exist forever with our Father and Savior.  Hang on to that hope.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to his great mercy begat us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, unto an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, that fades not away, reserved in heaven for you, who by the power of God are guarded through faith unto a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been put to grief in manifold trials, that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold that perishes though it is proved by fire, may be found unto praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ: whom not having seen you love; on whom, though now you see him not, yet believing, you rejoice greatly with joy unspeakable and full of glory: receiving the end of your faith, the salvation of your souls. 1 Pet 1:3-9.

Dene Ward

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            No, I didn’t marry Steve.  I married Keith Ward.  If ever there was a man who understood that religion isn’t a “woman thing,” that as leader of the family, the buck stopped with him, it’s this man.  The Bible was read and discussed every day in our home.  Bible lessons were done.  Sermons were dissected and analyzed.  By the time they were twelve, our sons knew more Bible than most adults.  When they hit Florida College, freshman Bible was an easy A.

            And me?  This man is the original enabler.  He taught me how to study.  He bought me books.  He answered my questions.  He arranged his schedule so he could watch the children while I taught classes.  He proofread material, offered suggestions, and made corrections.  Ultimately he footed a huge bill so we could print Born of a Woman.

            He is the one who suggested the blog and he hands out far more blog cards than I do.  Now, with my vision slowly declining, he drives me to the classes I teach and to speaking engagements, and still offers the same services proofreading and commenting.

            He does this without complaint and without resentment, despite the fact that his full-time preaching career, the only thing he wanted to do with his life, ended many years ago.  Since then he has held a few meetings, lectured at Florida College, and filled in at a dozen different congregations, but that is not what he had in mind.  Some men couldn’t live with that.  Some men would have kept their wives out of the limelight if they couldn’t have a share, especially men with so much knowledge and ability as he. 

            I’ve taught classes where some of the women could not attend because their husbands refused to “babysit.”  Excuse me?  They are his children, not his hobby.  But he had been “working all day and shouldn’t be expected to do that too.”  So his wife’s spirituality suffered when she missed an opportunity to learn, unimpeded by wrestling with babies.

            I’ve taught classes where as soon as it became apparent that she was becoming more knowledgeable than he, suddenly she was no longer allowed to attend.  Far be it from him to actually study enough to keep up with her.

            I’ve taught classes where, even though there were no children, he expected her home with him every night.  He certainly didn’t want a quick and easy dinner so she could make a seven o’clock’ class, especially if it left the dishes for him to do (if she were lucky).

            In forty years I have seen all kinds of husbands, and I know how blessed I am.  Keith Ward understands what God expects of him.  He is the spiritual leader of this family and he knows he will be held accountable for where its members end up. 

            So will every man, especially those who take such stock in being (thumbs pulling on suspenders and chest puffed out) “Head of the house.”  Any man who wants the title had better live up to it.  I’ve shown you four men who did.  They are worthy of your admiration and imitation.

Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself up for it; that he might sanctify it, having cleansed it by the washing of water with the word, that he might present the church to himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish. Even so ought husbands also to love their own wives as their own bodies. He that loves his own wife loves himself: for no man ever hated his own flesh; but nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ also the church; Ephesians 5:25-29.

Dene Ward

Twenty years ago I saw a dress in a catalog that I adored.  My style tends to be plain, tailored, and dark.  I generally like a blousy waistline because it makes me look like I have one, which I haven’t had since I was about two years old.  Every time that catalog came, I salivated over that dress, a black shirtwaist with long button-cuff sleeves and a broad, white collar embroidered on the edges.  At that time we just couldn’t afford it.  Feeding two teenage boys and paying a mortgage on a state salary and music studio tuitions was almost more than we could handle.

            A couple of years ago I was wandering through a second hand clothing store.  You would be surprised the bargains you can find if you are careful.  I have bought name brands for literally one-tenth their original price, some of them with the original price tags still on them, the extra buttons still sealed in plastic. 

            That day I saw the black arms hanging out from the press of the rack; I saw the white collar.  Could it be?  I checked the neckline for the label and found the old catalog name.  So I pulled it out and felt a thrill.  This was the dress I had wished for.  Twenty years ago it was a $45 dress.  This store wanted $6.00!  Then came the moment of truth:  I checked the size.  Yes!  Just to make sure, I tried it on, and then quickly shelled out my $6 and change for tax.  It almost made me believe in fate.

            This dress is long sleeved and a fairly heavy knit so it was just after Thanksgiving before I could wear it here in Florida.  I wore it to church that Sunday.  One of the first people I saw, a sweet five year old, came running up and exclaimed, “Mrs. Dene!  You look just like a pilgrim!”  I laughed a little, gave her a hug and thanked her.  Before I was halfway down the hall, another child came running up and said the same thing, word for word. 

            Okay, I thought.  I look like a pilgrim.  Maybe it’s too close to Thanksgiving to wear this.

            In the middle of January I wore it again.  A third sweet child gave me the same compliment.  It was enough to make me wonder, do they teach this phrase in the Bible classes these days?  But I suppose what capped it all was a good friend who came up to me and laughed, saying, “You look like a pilgrim!”

            I am about ready to donate this dress to another thrift store.  All I can see when I look in the mirror are the missing white cap, buckled shoes and white stockings.  It certainly isn’t what I thought of when I used to moon over that catalog.

            I wonder if Abraham and Sarah had in mind the pilgrim life God had planned for them when they answered the call to “Go to a land I will show you.”  That doesn’t necessarily sound like they would always be nomads.  It doesn’t sound like they would never have an earthly home again.  When someone tells me to go, usually they have a specific destination in mind.

            Even if they didn’t understand that in the beginning, they finally did.  By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God, Heb 11:8-10.  Eventually they knew they would never have a home on this earth, that the real one was waiting beyond the border of physical life and death.

            We must eventually, and as soon as possible, learn the same thing.  Our culture is too caught up in the here and now, in instant gratification, in “if it feels good do it.”  We think this is what matters.  That’s why we let it bother us so much when things do not go right.  That’s why we become angry over the inconsequential and throw away the truly valuable, including our hope.  They made me mad and they are going to know it!  They took what’s mine, and I have a right to take it back.  They hurt me and now I am going to hurt them—usually in exactly the same low way they hurt me. 

            If I know what it means to be a pilgrim in this world, none of that matters.  I don’t need to throw a tantrum.  I don’t need to get even.  I don’t need to have more and more and more because everyone else has it.  I don’t even need an easy, carefree life with no trials.  It will never compare to Heaven no matter how wonderful it is, and it certainly isn’t worth giving up Heaven for.

            Maybe I should keep the “Pilgrim” dress.  Maybe it will remind me of things I need to remember, when I need most to remember them.  Maybe I need to wear it for you, too.

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city, Heb 11:13,15.

Dene Ward

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Oh the pains of learning to dress yourself. 

            I remember my little boys, determined that they no longer needed Mom’s help, carefully laying out their shirts on the bed.  As soon as they saw their favorite super-hero or cartoon character looking at them, they just knew they had it right.  So they leaned over, grabbed the hem, and slipped the tee shirt over their heads, only to look down and see the blank backside of the shirt swathing their tummies.  So they ripped it off over their heads and tried again.  This time it was on front side to the front, but inside out. 

            Sometimes they wore it out the door inside out before I could catch them.  We had lessons on seams and labels, and finally they figured it out, more often than not anyway.  As we all grow up, though, we must learn that “inside out” is the way a Christian is supposed to operate every day.

            Babies have only their own perspectives.  If they cannot see you, then you cannot see them.  If they cannot feel it, it cannot be felt and is not important.  If they want it, no one else should have it.  Eventually we learn to think from other perspectives, those outside of our own.  We realize that just because I cannot see you with my covered up eyes, that does not mean my whole body is hidden. 

            Eventually, we learn to think about others’ feelings, turning our thoughts “inside out.”  At least, that is the way it is supposed to work.  Too many times though, we operate as if the feelings inside ourselves are the only that matter, ready to excuse ourselves without giving the other person the same benefit. 

            If I cut someone off in traffic, it is because I am late for an important appointment.  If the other guy does it to me, it is because he is an inconsiderate jerk. 

            If I snap at my spouse, it is because I have had a rough day, I’m tired and have a headache.  If he does it to me, it is because he is a louse. 

            If I don’t speak to a brother when I walk in the meetinghouse door, it is because I have a lot on my mind and did not see him.  If he does not speak to me, it is because he has something against me. 

            My opinion is carefully thought out and makes sense; yours is ridiculous—how can you possibly be so dumb?

            Thinking and feeling inside out is hard to do.  It takes work and thought, two things 21st century Americans try to avoid at all costs.  Christians are supposed to be different.  Oh the pain of learning to think like Christ, who counted not being on an equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.  But if he is my Lord, my seams and labels will show; everyone will know I belong to him.  If they cannot tell, I have my religion on backwards!

If there is therefore any exhortation in Christ, if any consolation of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any tender mercies and compassions, make full my joy, that you be of the same mind, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind; doing nothing through faction or through vainglory, but in lowliness of mind each counting other better than himself; not looking each of you to his own things, but each of you also to the things of others, Phil 2:1-4.

Dene Ward

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Last year I created a new study for the women I worship with, a study in the book of Psalms.  That means you will be getting a lot from that particular class in the next year or so, and eventually a new set of gleanings to look through. 

            The first five lessons have been prep lessons, studies in the history of the psalms, the nature of Hebrew poetry, the types of psalms, and the place of music in Old Testament worship.  What has amazed me are the little asides we have come up with—incidental lessons one can draw from hard facts.  We forget that sometimes, and ridicule those who insist on fact learning as being somehow less than spiritual in their outlooks.  Not so, my friends, for those who ignore the facts often make mistakes deadly to their souls.  God had a reason for recording these things so it would behoove us to learn them.

            Here is one for you.  David spent chapter after chapter telling Solomon how to build the Temple.  His instructions were detailed and specific.  Do you think he came up with this all by himself?  I have heard it said so, but David said otherwise.

            Be careful now, for the LORD has chosen you to build a house for the sanctuary; be strong and do it." Then David gave Solomon his son the plan of the vestibule of the temple, and of its houses, its treasuries, its upper rooms, and its inner chambers, and of the room for the mercy seat… All this he made clear to me in writing from the hand of the LORD, all the work to be done according to the plan. 1 Chron. 28:10, 11, 19)

            Even in the disposition of the music and the musicians, David says the command came from God, not his own preferences.  And he stationed the Levites in the house of the LORD with cymbals, harps, and lyres, according to the commandment of David and of Gad the king's seer and of Nathan the prophet, for the commandment was from the LORD through his prophets. 2 Chronicles 29:25.  May I just say this about that?  When God wanted instrumental music, He knew exactly how to command it, and he was quite specific about when, how, and what was to be used.

            When I was a music student at the University of South Florida, several of my professors expressed amazement at my religious beliefs concerning music in the services.  “You are a pianist,” they said.  “Don’t you want to use your talent in service to the God who gave it?”

            When I explained as patiently and respectfully as I knew how, “What I want is to give God the service He requires, not the service I prefer,” they were dumbfounded.  It had never crossed their minds, evidently, that the One being served had the right to demand a certain kind of service and would not accept anything else, in fact, would count it as rebellion.

            David never decided what he liked and imposed it upon God.  This is the man who said, “I will not offer to God that which cost me nothing.”  He knew that service to God involved sacrifice, including the sacrifice of what he liked and did not like, what he preferred and did not prefer.  David was truly a servant of God, not a servant of himself. 

            In every aspect of life, which are you?

They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly things. For when Moses was about to erect the tent, he was instructed by God, saying, "See that you make everything according to the pattern that was shown you on the mountain." Hebrews 8:5.

Dene Ward

For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar.)