Flight Paths

Have you ever really listened to one of those commercials about various prescriptions drugs?  
              
“Do not take Wonderdrug if you cannot sit, stand, or lie for longer than an hour, if you are pregnant or might become pregnant, if you have high blood pressure, low blood pressure, heart problems, trouble breathing, or during months beginning with J or ending with R.  Wonderdrug has been known to cause dizziness, memory loss, headaches, earaches, toothaches, infectious diseases,  cancer of all sorts, liver damage, bleeding ulcers, stroke, seizures, heart attack, acne, warts, and, in rare occasions, death.”   In some cases the remedy sounds truly worse than the disease.  I must say, though, I was stopped in my tracks the other day when one commercial warned that the drug might cause “increase in gambling."  Surely they were just trying to get my attention, right?  
              
Lately, I have had so many chemicals poured into me that I have had to
wonder about the remedy in my case as well.  Atropine, Predforte, Phenylephrin,  Zymar, Erithromycin, Alphagan, CoSopt, and Travatan, plus four others by three other doctors, all at the same time, a total of about 60 doses a day at one point.  And then there were the accompanying side effects:  light sensitivity, erratic heartbeat, dry mouth, dizziness, loss of taste, not to mention the eating away of the top layer of my eyeball (epithiliopathy) not once, but twice since then, after it had healed!  Believe it not, stopping the medication would have been worse, though sometimes I was strongly tempted to do so.

Pouring chemicals into your body is not good.  If your body is working correctly, don’t.  

It is no different with sin.  Sin may be attractive.  It may look good, but you will sooner or later suffer the side effects: guilt, shame, and spiritual death. 
As David wrote, For my iniquities have gone over my head; as a heavy burden they are too heavy for me.  My wounds are loathsome and corrupt because of my foolishness, Psa 38:4,5.

Righteousness, on the other hand, offers no painful side effects to the
sin-sick soul.  Instead we receive peace, boldness, strength, hope, joy, and life.  These are not unnatural to the soul; unlike lives of sin, this is the way God intended us to live from the beginning.  
             
Don’t be fooled by the labels the world attaches to sin, labels like “fun,” “security,” and “love.”  Jesus did not call Satan a liar without cause.  Instead, live joyfully, at peace with God, with all the guilt and shame removed from your shoulders.  That is what life in Christ is all about.
 
Being therefore justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have had our access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Rom 5:1,2  
 
Dene Ward

It’s another summer morning in Florida.  Nine o’clock, 76 degrees, yet before you have taken ten steps outside your skin begins to prickle in that way it does just before a sweat breaks out, and your hair begins to wilt or kink, depending upon its natural state of curl or uncurl.  The trees are dripping so that it sounds like rain on the metal carport roofing, and the hazy air is thick enough with humidity to drown you if you breathe too quickly.  The damp ground smells loamy, and in places a little sour.  A film of perspiration has already formed over your lips and your shirt feels like it came out of the dryer five minutes too soon. 

If you stay out longer than a few minutes, the only word that truly describes how you feel is “nasty.”  Sweaty, greasy, grimy, sandy, and swarming with gnats and yellow flies.  As uncomfortable as it is, I still try to get all my yard work done then, before the temperature rises to match the humidity and the sub-tropical sun beats on you as mercilessly as an Egyptian taskmaster.  I spray the underside of my garden hat brim with Off and don my work out clothes.  No need messing up something else with gray grime that will never come out once you have soaked them in the righteous sweat of labor, for dripping with it you will be.

This morning I spent the time in the raised bed around the trellises.  With a wetter summer than we have had in years, the weeds grow more thickly than the grass and flowers.  I weed one bed, and the next week it looks like I haven’t touched it in a month.  So I went around pulling out grass sprigs, dollarweed, castor beans, and half a dozen oak trees.

You read that right—oak trees.  I am not Mrs. Paul Bunyan—none of those discarded oak trees were over 6 inches tall.  Some of them even had the acorn still attached to the roots when I pulled it out of the ground.  It was easy.  One quick rip and up they came.  Pulling up trees is simple when you get them at six inches.  Even waiting till they are a foot tall makes a significant difference in how difficult it is to uproot them.

Yet isn’t that what we do in our lives?  We wait till the soap scum is flaky gray and a quarter inch thick before we get out the scrub brush, when a two minute wipe each week would save us twenty minutes of elbow grease every month.  We wait till the fat rolls over our waistbands, when losing five pounds every six months would save us the agony of an 800 calorie a day diet for a year to lose thirty.  We wait till our lives are falling apart, when realigning ourselves a quarter inch every day would have kept the Devil at bay.

Isn’t it time to wise up a little?  Isn’t it time to do a little work to save the pain that results from neglect? 

Have a conversation with God every day, throughout the day, while you wash those dishes or walk the dog or trim the hedges.  When something serious arises and you really need the help, you won’t have to wonder if He’ll be there for you or if He gave up on you long ago.  (He does do that, you know, give up on people, Jer 11:11; 14:12; Ezek 8:18; Mic 3:4; Zech 7:13, etc.).

Start reading your Bible now, a little every day, adding some serious and diligent study as you go along, learning some good study techniques from those who know them and want so badly to share.  Then when your neighbor asks you a question, you just might be able to answer him, instead of standing there like a fool, red with embarrassment.

Begin working on those problems you have, the ones that nag you day after day.  Make a plan and begin to weed the sin out of your life like a six inch oak tree.  If it becomes the behemoth that stands over your house, you will never get rid of it, but the Devil will be more than happy to take advantage of the shade.

…looking carefully lest there be any man that fall short of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby the many be defiled; Hebrews 12:15.

Dene Ward

Whew!  It’s over for another year.  Some of it is in the freezer—blueberries, strawberries, tomato sauce, corn, pole beans, white acre peas, blackeyes, and limas—but quite a bit sits on the shelves of the back pantry in those clear sturdy Mason jars: two kinds of cucumber pickles, squash pickles, okra pickles, pickled banana peppers, pickled jalapenos, tomatoes, salsa, tomato jam, muscadine juice, and muscadine jelly.

The first time I ever canned I was scared to death.  First, the pressure canner scared me.  I had heard too many stories of blown up pots and collard greens hanging from the ceiling, but once I had used it a few times without incident, and really understood how it worked, that fear left me.  I still follow the rules though, or it will blow up.  No amount of sincerity on my part will keep that from happening if I let the pressure get too high. 

I also follow the sterilization rules and the rules about how much pressure for how long and how much acidity is required for steam canning.  Botulism, a food poisoning caused by foods that have been improperly canned, is a particularly dangerous disease.  Symptoms include severe abdominal pain, vomiting, blurred vision, muscle weakness and eventual paralysis.  You’d better believe I carefully follow all the rules for home canning.  I give away a lot of my pickles and jams.  Not only do I not want botulism, I certainly don’t want to give it to anyone else either.

Some folks chafe at rules.  Maybe that’s why they don’t follow God’s rules.  They want to take the Bible and pick and choose what suits them.  “Authority?” they scoff.  “Overrated and totally unnecessary.”  Authority does matter and a lot of people in the Bible found out the hard way.  Whatever you do in word or in deed, do all in the name of {by the authority of} the Lord Jesus…Col 3:17.  You might pay special attention to the context of that verse too.

God’s people were warned over and over to follow His rules, to, in fact, be careful to follow His rules, Deut 5:1.  I counted 31 times in the Pentateuch alone.  Not following those rules resulted in death for many and captivity for others.  When Ezra and Nehemiah brought the remnant back to Jerusalem, once again they were warned, at least five times in those two short books.  Maybe suffering the consequences of doing otherwise made the need for so much repetition a little less.

David had a way of looking at God’s rules that we need to consider.  For I have kept the ways of the Lord, and have not wickedly departed from my God.  For all his rules were before me, and from his statutes I did not turn aside, 2 Sam 22:22,23. Many of David’s psalms talk about God’s rules, but the 119th mentions them 17 times.  David calls those rules good, helpful, comforting, righteous, praiseworthy, enduring, hope-inducing, true, and life-giving.  How can anyone chafe at something so wonderful?

People simply don’t want rules, especially with God.  God is supposed to be loving and kind and accept me as I am.  No.  God knows that the way we are will only bring death.  We must follow the rules in order to live.  We must love the rules every bit as much as David did.  I will praise you with an upright heart when I learn your righteous rules…My soul is consumed with longing for your rules at all times…When I think of your rules from of old, I take comfort, O Lord…Great is your mercy O Lord, give me life according to your rules, 119:7, 20, 52, 156.

I get out my canning guide and faithfully follow their rules every summer.  I never just guess at it; I never say, “That’s close enough.”  I know if I don’t follow those rules someone could die, maybe me or one of my good friends or one of my precious children or grandchildren.  I bet there is something in your life with rules just as important that you follow faithfully.  Why then, are we so careless with the most important rules we have ever been given?

For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, 1 John 5:3.

Dene Ward

August in Florida—the grapes are coming in.  Every evening after dinner, Keith and I sit in the shade of the grape arbor in the green swing Lucas made in high school shop class, munching grapes.  In Florida grapes are large, thick skinned muscadines and scuppernongs, bronze or a purple so dark it almost looks black.  We spit out the more bitter skins, and Chloe and Magdi wander around under our feet scarfing them up like little furry scavengers.  When we are too slow to suit them, Chloe wanders back to the vine and picks her own.

Sometimes I think grapes must be God’s favorite fruit.  The symbolism in the scriptures begins in Genesis where both Judah and Joseph are described as grapevines, and travels on throughout the scriptures.  The promise of the Messiah is pictured as a time when shall sit every man under his vine…and none shall make them afraid, Micah 4:4.  Both Old Testament Israel and New Testament spiritual Israel, the church, are called vineyards (Isa 5:1-7; Mt 20:1-16).  Jesus says, I am the vine in John 15, and in the memorial feast we partake of every first day of the week, we drink the fruit of the vine, grape juice, which symbolizes his shedding of blood—not that he simply cut himself and bled one day, but that he died for our sins.

But the symbolism is not always pleasant.  In a prophecy about Judah’s coming destruction the prophet Zephaniah says, And their wealth shall become a spoil, and their houses a desolation; yes, they shall build houses, but shall not inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards, but shall not drink the wine thereof, 1:13.

One of the most terrifying prophecies in the Old Testament also contains the symbolism of grapes and grape juice.

Who is this that comes from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah? He who is glorious in his apparel, marching in the greatness of his strength?  

I who speak in righteousness, mighty to save.

Why are you red in your apparel, and your garments like him that treads in the wine vat? 

I have trodden the winepress alone; and of the peoples there was no man with me: yes, I trod them in my anger, and trampled them in my wrath; and their lifeblood is sprinkled upon my garments, and I have stained all my raiment   For the day of vengeance was in my heart.. . And I trod down the people in my anger, and made them drunk in my wrath, and I poured out their lifeblood on the earth.   Isa 63:1-4,6.

Every evening I once again have the opportunity to reflect on how I want the symbolism of the grapes to manifest itself in my life.  Do I want it to be my blood sprinkling the robe of an angry God, who tramples the wicked like grapes in a winepress, or will I accept the blood of the spotless Lamb of God, who died for me, so I can sit under my vine and not be afraid? 

Don’t ever forget that the choice is ours to make.

I am the vine; you are the branches.  He who abides in me, and I in him, the same bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.  If a man does not abide in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered, and they gather them and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.  If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it will be done unto you.  Herein is the Father glorified:  that you bear much fruit; and so shall you be my disciples, John 15:5-8.       

Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

When we started gardening in Illinois, the second year of our marriage, I wanted a hoe like the one I grew up using.  I could not find one in any of the hardware stores. This hoe has two opposite blades with a hole in the center: One blade is narrow, about an inch or an inch and a half wide, and works wonderfully for laying out rows; the other blade spreads to about 4 inches wide and works well for chopping weeds or breaking up rain-packed beds.  I have never seen another hoe that could do both.  Few other hoes are such heavy gauge steel.  When I was a child, Mom used it in place of a tiller since we never had one of those.  My sister and I were tasked to beat the dirt out of the grass clods and toss the grass aside. Finally, I asked Dad to get me one and he had to order it.  I doubt that he let me pay for it.

We marked a place on the handle with electrical tape to know how far apart to put the garden rows.  For years, I would rent or borrow a tiller in the spring and then that hoe did all our gardening thereafter.  After I got a tiller, one year it rained so much I could not use it and the ground was turning sour and the plants dying.  I stood in mud to my knees, with my feet sunken to the hardpan clay underneath, and hoed the surface to aerate the soil and managed to save our harvest.

A few years ago, the handle rotted some at the end and the hoe tended to rotate so I filled it in with JB Weld.  It finally broke after 38 years of service.  I searched 3 hardware stores before I found a handle.  I put a healthy dose of JB Weld where the hoe would fit and put the hoe in a vise and drove the handle on with a 3 pound hammer.  Then I smoothed the JB Weld on both sides and kept rotating it in the sun so it would not drip until it dried. This hoe should be good for 40 years which is more than you can say for me.

I liked that hoe because it was the kind I grew up with.  Is that why you like your church?

…to make all men see what is the dispensation of the mystery which for ages has been hid in God who created all things; to the intent that now unto the principalities and the powers in the heavenly places might be made known through the church the manifold wisdom of God, according to the eternal purpose which he purposed in Christ Jesus our Lord: Ephesians 3:9-11.

Keith Ward

I was watching the sprinkler zzzt-zzzt-zzzt its way across the garden the other day. Usually the end of April and most of May are dry. The afternoon thundershowers don’t start until the humidity and temperature both reach the 90s, so to keep the garden alive, we have to irrigate. Keith has various methods he uses, a drip hose, a sprinkler, and simple hand-watering, depending upon the crop and its weaknesses. Some plants are more prone to fungus, so you keep their leaves as dry as possible by hand-watering, directing the water to the bottom of the plant. Sometimes Keith spends as long as two hours in an evening watering.

But as soon as the summer rains start, the garden takes off. It becomes obvious that, despite all the time spent, all we did was help the garden survive until the real thing came along. The plants almost explode they grow so much faster and produce so much better. Chemically the water may be the same, but out here in the country everyone knows that irrigation is a distant second to God’s watering.

Should that surprise us? Adam and Eve made themselves aprons of fig leaves. God came along and made them garments of skins. I know which one I had rather wear on a cool evening. Men made gods of stone and wood and metal. Jehovah is a spirit with no beginning or end. I know which one I had rather rely on to take care of me. Under the old covenant, the blood of bulls and goats could only put away the sins for a year at a time. The blood of a perfect, unblemished sacrifice puts them away forever. I know which one I had rather count on for my salvation.

When it comes to God, there is no substitute for the real thing. 

God understands the way to it, and he knows its place. For he looks to the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens. When he gave to the wind its weight, and apportioned the waters by measure, when he made a decree for the rain and a way for the lightning of the thunder, then he saw it and declared it, he established it and searched it out. And he said to man, Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to turn away from evil is understanding, Job 28:23-28.

 Dene Ward 

I can remember my daddy uttering those very words every time we pulled up to what was then called a “service station,” a glassed-in office with two service bays and usually two gas islands, sporting regular, premium and mid-grade pumps, the older models rounded on the top and the newer ones square-cornered and squat.  An attendant came out of one of the bays, called to us by the double-ding of the bell hoses we ran over with both front and rear tires, usually wiping his hands with a greasy blue rag, and did the honors while we sat in the car waiting.  He also checked the water in the radiator and battery, and cleaned the windshields.  When the pump kicked off, he carefully finished filling the tank and then bent his head to the open window to tell us the amount we owed.  If we paid cash, he brought back change.  If we used our gas company credit card, he took it and ran it, bringing back a dark blue clipboard with slip attached and a pen for a signature.

We never left the car, never lifted a finger.  It was all done for us.  Maybe that’s why we seem to expect God to “fill ‘er up” without having to make any effort at all ourselves.  Maybe that’s what we’re thinking when we sit in our pews on Sunday morning—we’re expecting the teachers, songleaders, and preachers to “fill ‘her up.” 

“I didn’t get anything out of services this morning,” we say, as if that were the only purpose to our being there, to allow others to wait on us just like an attendant at an old-fashioned service station; as if that were the only possible way to fill oneself up spiritually.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled, Matt 5:6.  Do we really think that righteousness can be poured in like gasoline, that we can sit passively while it happens?

John tells us, Whoever practices righteousness is righteous, 1 John 3:7.  Being filled with righteousness has far more to do with what I do anywhere else besides a church building than it does with listening to a sermon and expecting to walk away holy because of it.

God also expects us to fill ourselves with knowledge.  Anyone who thinks that comes from osmosis on Sunday mornings as we doze in our pews or play with the babies in front of us had better not apply for a school teaching job any time soon. You won’t keep it long.

Paul says, And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God, Colossians 1:9-10.  Becoming knowledgeable takes work far above and beyond listening to a couple hours a week of sermons and Bible classes.  Making it stick means applying what you learn, “bearing fruit” as you put that knowledge into practice.

But others have the problem of which tank to use.  They seem satisfied with “regular.”  My daddy worked for Gulf Oil so we always went to Gulf stations.  “Regular” was called “Good Gulf” and premium was called “Gulftane,” a play on the fact that the octane was higher.  A soul created in the image of God requires nothing less than premium.

I read a book once in which the writer was at a loss to know how to refill herself after giving so much to marriage, children, and society.  Her problem was thinking she could do it herself, with things that have no eternal existence and purpose.  She was trying to fill up on “regular.”   Christians know better.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope, Romans 15:13.

“Fill ‘er up,” we used to say to the gas attendant.  Far more important, we should say it to God, and then do our part as He fills us to the brim.  It’s the only way to keep your life from running on empty.

And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God, Philippians 1:9-11.

Dene Ward

About thirty years ago, we awoke one Saturday morning to ominous gray skies and strong winds. The forecast for the day made it dangerous to be out, so we called those we had invited for a singing that afternoon and canceled. Instead of walking to the paper box, about a quarter mile down our driveway, Keith drove the car, and as huge, plopping raindrops began falling, parked it next to the front door when he returned.

A few minutes later, he looked out the window by the table where he sat reading the paper and sipping a cup of coffee. Something in his manner made me look too, but I didn’t see anything.

“Get the boys,” he said very quietly, “and go crouch down in the middle of the house. Cover your faces.” I did exactly as he said, unquestioningly. He grew up in the Arkansas mountains, and he knew about things I had no experience with. A few minutes later it was all over with. What “all” was, I still did not realize. The power had gone out, but we were still intact.

We stepped out of the house, and the hay barn across the field no longer had a roof. Several water oaks and wild cherry trees were down on the long drive to the highway. A large chinaberry had fallen right where the car had originally been parked before he decided to drive for the paper instead of walking. It would have been flattened.

Then we edged around the corner of the house on our bedroom side, and saw the worst of it. A huge live oak had split. Half had fallen on the power lines, but the line was still alive, wiggling and sparking on the ground. The other half, its roots mostly out of the ground, leaned right over our bedroom. We had no idea how long it would hold before it too fell and demolished our house.

We called the power company immediately and they rushed out to take care of the live wire, but they had too many other calls to send someone to handle the tilting tree. We would have to wait our turn. Word gradually spread down the highway, and within an hour, two men who worked timber drove up with cables and chainsaws, and those two men, who were complete strangers to us, took the tree down safely and with no damage. We thanked them profusely. “That’s what neighbors are for,” they said, and off they went.

A preacher friend who had been invited to the sing never got the message to cancel. He showed up amid the raucous roar of chainsaws, and heard the whole story. It impressed him enough to include it in a lesson on prayer and providence. The people in the audience were not impressed. Afterward they took him aside and scolded him. “God does not act in the world today,” they reminded him. He was astounded, and so were we.

When we become so intent on exposing false doctrine that we blatantly ignore the truth, swinging the pendulum so far back that we miss it entirely, something is wrong with our perspective. If God had no hand in what happened that day, then why do we bother to pray at all? Do we not believe James?

“The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much,” 5:16.

Do we not believe the book of Esther or the last 14 chapters of Genesis? “God sent me,” Joseph told his brothers who had thought it was all their idea, and God continued to “send” Joseph through Potiphar’s wife, the baker and butler, and eventually Pharaoh himself.

God spent much of the prophets talking about how He would work through the enemies of Israel. “Ho Assyrian! The rod of my anger! The staff of my fury is in his hand,” Isa 10:5. God sent those Assyrians to punish Israel, just as certainly as He sent those two lumberjacks to save my home. He did it because of the prayers I started the moment I saw that look in my husband’s eye, the moment I crouched on the floor trying to shield my little boys with my own body, the moment we saw that tree clinging to the pitifully few clods of dirt left on its roots.

I will never believe otherwise. In fact, why do we bother if we don’t believe it?

The LORD is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. He fulfills the desire of those who fear him; he also hears their cry and saves them. Psalms 145:18-19

Dene Ward

We found this plot of land only because Keith drove down the highway one day and saw a sign pointing off to the east: 5 ACRES FOR SALE BY OWNER. When he stopped he could barely tell that a trail led off the highway, over a shallow rise and on into the woods beyond. Being in the market for a place to put our home, we followed it one day, driving carefully over a bumpy track and eventually onto a grassy downhill slope, hoping we would not bottom out in an unseen gopher hole or mushy spring. Half a mile later, we stood under some big old live oaks draped with Spanish moss, knee deep in grass and weeds, with an open field just over the pushed-up fence row. About a month later, this became home.

When you move onto unimproved land, you discover quickly the value of roads. Roads are built above the general lay of the land, usually ditched on the sides. A new neighbor, who has become a good friend, suggested that we have the septic tank man scrape down the fence row behind the house, which left a path several feet above the rest of the land. We did not use it, instead driving across the top of the property on the grass to the front door. The summer rains began shortly after we moved in, followed by a nearby hurricane, and after having another neighbor pull the car out of the mud with his tractor at least three times, we began using the raised fence row as our driveway. That is why to this day, you pull up to the back of the house instead of the front.

Another problem lay just a couple hundred feet off the highway—a low spot you never noticed until it rained four or five inches. Overnight the land around it drained and made a pond between us and the road. There was no way to go around because of the neighbor’s fences, and the low spot was a bowl that could not empty. For a couple of months in August and September, we parked by the highway, waded through the pond, and walked the rest of the half mile to the house.

Sundays were particularly interesting. We all dressed the top half of ourselves, then put on shorts, and carried towels. After walking to the offending body of water, we waded through slowly, careful not to splash mud on the Sunday clothes above our waists, then got into the car, dried off, and finished dressing. When we came home, we reversed the process. Returning from evening services was particularly thrilling, hoping nothing deadly swam by us in the knee deep water and using flashlights to make sure we didn’t step on any snakes as we trudged to the house in the dark, with buzzing mosquitoes for company.

Keith worked for years on that spot. An acquaintance did roofing and often had piles of old gravel that needed to be hauled off. Keith would stop by his work site in the evenings, load gravel into his pickup bed with a shovel he always had, bring it home and unload it before coming back to the house. There must be a good three feet of gravel beneath the dirt there now, for fifty feet along that low spot. Eventually he dug a ditch off to the side all the way to the highway, using nothing but a shovel, a two hundred foot long ditch, in places hip-deep, so the water would drain. Finally, we could count on getting through, regardless how much it rained. The people who have moved in have no idea how much they owe him.

I remember thinking, especially as I struggled to put on pantyhose in the front seat of the car, or as I fearfully followed the bouncing beam of a flashlight through the north Florida woods at night, that I had better not ever hear anyone else’s excuses for not assembling with their brethren.

But I also remember this—not a single time did we even see (or hear) a snake on those scary evenings. Before that, when we could drive through, we saw several, even rattlesnakes and cottonmouths, but nothing on any pedestrian return trip from evening services.

Not a single time did we have to make that half mile walk in the rain. Certainly it had rained beforehand or the pond would not have been there, and often it rained more after we returned home, but we never got wet on our walks. Yes, that was a trying time, but it could have been worse. God knew what we could handle and He expected us to do just that—handle it. In return, He took care of us and never allowed it to be more of a burden than we could overcome.

Too many times we view our troubles from the wrong side and fail to see God’s helping hand. Even when we think otherwise, He is there, guiding us and making things bearable. Sometimes we won’t realize that till long after the trial is over. Remember that the next time a difficulty arises. I guarantee that as long as you are faithful, God is too, and one of these days you will see that as clearly as through a newly cleaned window.

We have had many difficulties since then, but I find myself looking back on what now seems minor compared to our more recent problems. If we had not waded through the water, if we had not followed a flashlight through the woods, could we have made it through what came after? Probably not, and a wise Father knew that. I find myself thinking, God, can I please have another pond to wade through? But the days of puddles are past. Rivers lie ahead, and we know we can get across them now, in part because of a muddy pond twenty-five years ago.

Be free from the love of money, content with such things as you have; for He has said, I will in no way fail you, nor in anyway forsake you. So with good courage we say, The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what shall man do to me? Heb 13:5,6.

Dene Ward

A long time ago my sister gave me a recipe for “Congo Bars.”  Congo bars are basically a blondie, extra gooey, with two kinds of chips in them, butterscotch and semi-sweet.  The recipe makes not a 9 x 13 pan, but a 10 x 15, and when I need a whole lot of something, I still go to that recipe.

I have added a few twists of my own, though.  First, I toast the nuts.  The pan doesn’t stay in the oven but 15 minutes, which is not quite enough time, enrobed as they are in all that batter, for the nuts to really brown.  Believe me, the flavor difference is obvious. 

The other change I made began as a desperation move when I didn’t have one cup each of butterscotch and semi-sweet chocolate chips.  Instead, I had about half a cup each of those bagged up in my freezer from previous recipes, and also the remains of a bag of peanut butter chips and one of white chocolate chips.  Together they made just over the two cups total I needed, so I threw them all in.

I have never received so many compliments on a homely looking bar cookie in my life.  Things like, “Wow!  This is so interesting,” and, “I get a different flavor with every bite.  How did you do that?”  So now I do it on purpose.  Whenever I see those pieces of bags stacking up in my freezer, Congo bars are on the menu that week as the dessert I take to a potluck, or the bars I take camping, or the cookies in the cookie jar when the kids come home.  Weeks after they first taste them, people are still talking about these things, and all I did was stir a bunch of different flavored chips together in the batter.

That is exactly what God expected from the church.  He never intended us to be homogenous groups, some all middle class, some all lower class, some all black, some all white, some totally blue collar workers, and some nothing but white collar workers.  “All nations shall flow in,” Isaiah prophesied in chapter 2, and it becomes obvious when you read about those first century churches that Jew and Gentile weren’t the only differences.

But even in the first century, the people rebelled against such a notion.  “We can’t worship with them,” the Jewish Christians whined about the Gentiles.  “Come sit up here,” they said to the rich visitor, and gave the lesser seat to the poor man. 

Hadn’t Jesus paved the way?  Even among the chosen twelve, there were differences—blue collar Galileans and urbane Judeans, men with Aramaic names and men with Greek names, some disciples of John and others not, fishermen, publicans, and Zealots.  They too had trouble with the notion of equality among them, but they overcame it.

I worship with a congregation of nearly 300.  You know the wonderful thing about that?  Whatever I need, someone there can help me.  I have a physician, a plumber, a computer whiz, a chiropractor, a financial advisor, a legal consultant, an electrician, a carpenter, and a pharmacist.  As far as the church’s needs, we have an accountant, a couple of computer techs, lawn workers, housekeepers, teachers, photographers, several Bible scholars, and a host of others who step up when the need arises in their specialty.  We have babes in arms and folks in their nineties.  How likely is that to happen when there are only 30 of you?

Sometimes you cannot help there being only 30 of you—at least for awhile.  That should be changing too as each fulfills his obligation to tell others about his faith.  But sometimes churches are small because people do not want to worship with other types of people.  Why should there be a small black group and a small white group in the same town except that people do not want to be together?  Shame on us for letting our comfort zones become more important than the good of the Lord’s kingdom in that particular locality. 

The power of the gospel is seen not only in the changes in our lives, but in the way people of different backgrounds, cultures, and classes love one another.  Jesus prayed that we would all be one “so the world may know that you sent me.” 

We have people who raise their hands when they sing, and people who don’t.  We have song leaders who lead more modern, syncopated music, and those who stick with the old standards.  We have people “raised in the church,” and those who are new to it; some who grew up knowing right from wrong before they were knee-high, and others who came to us from rehab.  There may be a different flavor in every bite, but we all get along.  To do otherwise would make a mockery of the plan of salvation. 

“All have sinned,” and we are all saved by the grace of the same God.  That’s the only sameness about us that really matters.

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. (Romans 15:5-7)

(For this recipe go to "Dene's Recipes" page)

Dene Ward