Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.
I went to the men's study Friday morning. It was an intro class to the first big section of the study called "Unpacking the Past."  The author called us to honestly look at our past, at the things that shaped who we are, the events that molded our lives and face up to them and learn from them or we can never take control of our lives. We will always be responding to stimuli we don't even acknowledge. He showed what he meant by talking about his childhood and the things that formed him. The negative things he had to overcome came from his father never saying he loved him, or was proud of him, never really talking to him, teaching him, or showing much interest. He was there, but he wasn't REALLY there. These were all things that affected how this teacher lived his life for years until he confronted it and decided to move on. In the discussion period after the class some of the men also talked about how their fathers were distant figures who were never emotionally involved in their children's lives. 

It made me think, and I brought this up in discussion, that I must have been even luckier than I thought in who I got as a father. I've (almost) always known and acknowledged that my dad did a great job as a dad, but the comparison really makes it stand out. Dad got up every morning earlier than he had to so he would have time to read us a chapter out of the Bible while we were eating breakfast. Then he would walk us to the bus stop and we would play catch until the bus came. After he had to give up preaching, he got a very good job as an insurance salesman that paid very well, but most of the contacts and sales meetings were, of course, in the evenings. He quit that job and took one that paid a much less because he felt he was missing us growing up. He wanted to spend time with us.

Perhaps what I most appreciate today -- and appreciated least then -- was that Dad taught us to work. We had what I like to call a "minifarm". Five acres with hogs, chickens, dogs and cats, and a garden so big that not only did we gorge ourselves on fresh produce all summer long and freeze and/or can enough to last us the remainder of the year, but we kept pretty much the whole church (200 people) in free, fresh produce all summer long. We came home from school and had chores to do in the afternoon. We worked hard most of the weekends and throughout the summer. Dad showed us first hand the need for responsibility, hard work, and doing things right the first time. As hard as we worked, Dad always made time for fun. We'd get up early and work hard throughout the morning and early afternoon, then take off and go swimming in one of the local swimming holes, or we'd play baseball or basketball or football -- nice to have a fifty yard long field almost equally wide to play in. Dad regularly told us he loved us and was proud of us. Before bed every night we gathered for a family prayer. He was involved.

That's not to say Dad didn't mess up sometimes. He definitely wasn't perfect, but that brings me to my earliest memory. It occurred, I believe, in South Carolina, from which we moved a week after my third birthday, so it was early in my life. I'm not real sure exactly what happened, just that Dad was angry with me about something and hollered. Mom stopped him and said something, again I'm real fuzzy here, but what I remember clearly is Dad stopping, getting down on the floor so he could look me in the eyes and say he was sorry. He meant it. He said he was sorry, that what he said was something he should never have said and repeated that he was sorry. He then prayed, with me, to God for forgiveness. I've never forgotten. To this day, I am willing to admit when I'm wrong -- I'm stubborn, but if the facts are there, I'll admit it -- and apologize. I've apologized up hill and down hill. I'm willing to listen when others approach me. I try to analyze myself and my actions honestly. Do you think Dad's example might have had something to do with that?

My dad isn't perfect. There were times I was so mad at him I thought I'd never want to see him again -- of course, some of those times were because I wasn't perfect. He messed up, but he loved us. He tried his best, and tried to keep getting better and learn from his mistakes. He studied the Bible for help in getting better. He was there for us, taught us the things he thought were important about being a man, spurred us onward and propped us up. He taught us about God. 

Thanks, Dad.

Lucas Ward

            June 14 is our anniversary.  We like to call it “our” birthday, because 40 years ago we became one new person.  It is, in fact, Keith’s own birthday as well.  He tells me I am the best birthday present he ever received, even now when I am causing him more trouble than ever before with these eyes of mine.

            Do you know what I consider the best present he ever gave me?  Security.  I am not talking about money.  He never promised me a lavish lifestyle.  He never promised me a big home, a bottomless bank account, vacations all over the world, or even all over this country.  What he did promise was “for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health,” and he has kept those promises.

            We have had our share of “poorer;” we’ve certainly had times of “worse;” we have dealt with the “sickness” aspect longer that most realize if you count our increasing disabilities.  But he is still here.  I can still see well enough in the mirror.  Despite bulges, surgery scars, wrinkles, once tight skin that now flaps in the breeze, long black curly hair that is cut short for ease and has turned gun metal gray, and eyes that are now constantly swollen and squinty, and sometimes black, purple, or red, he still tells me I am beautiful.  And you know what?  Somehow, he makes me believe it.

            In spite of his own handicap, which few view with any understanding or compassion at all and which grows worse every day, he pampers me, takes care of me, serves me, guards me, and puts me on a pedestal I don’t deserve.  I know he will never leave me, and that is a gift of comfort beyond all measure.

            Yet we do not take each other for granted.  We both work hard to make this marriage commitment not just a responsibility but a pleasure as well.  Forty years ago we made promises not just to each other, but to God.  We both believe those promises must be kept, and in keeping them, we laugh and love more and more every day.

            Being several years older, he frets about who will care for me when he is gone.  But we have two sons who have seen his example their entire lives.  I don’t worry one bit.

            Do you young husbands want an example for your marriages?  Do you older husbands want to give your wives a wonderful gift?  Here it is:  security in your love.  It will make all the difference in the world. 

Husbands love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself up for it.  Even so ought husbands to love their wives as their own bodies, Eph 5:25,28.

Enjoy life with the wife whom you love all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil which you toil under the sun, Eccl 9:9,

Dene Ward

My neighbor takes as little care of his animals as he does his property.  The horses, donkeys and cows all have ribs that show through their skin and sores on their hides, unfortunately, just below the level that the animal control people consider criminal neglect so they will not intervene.  I often think to myself that I would like to see those people have to endure the same things as these animals and then decide if it is abuse or not, particularly after those poor creatures have broken through the fence yet again and we must dodge them as they wander the road looking for something to eat..  We have even thrown some of our garden refuse over the fence at times to try to help them out.

            As I walked up to unlock the gate one morning for an expected visitor, a donkey and a cow stood just across the west fence.  The donkey evidently saw a meal on the hoof, walked up to the cow and started chewing its left ear.  The cow was not pleased with the situation and turned around.  So the donkey started chewing its right ear.  The cow yanked its head away and trotted off, with the donkey trailing behind.  As soon as the cow stopped, the donkey headed straight for her head and grabbed an ear again.  Once again the cow turned around only to have the other ear chomped on.  She took off again.  I watched this for nearly five minutes before the cow finally headed for the fence row and quite purposefully stuck her head in a bush. 

            The donkey tried to get to an ear and found himself struck in the face by the limbs and branches of the wild myrtle and unable to get to the cow’s ears.  I am afraid I could not help myself—I laughed out loud and cheered for the cow.  After a few minutes, the donkey gave up and left, trotting across the field straight for another cow, braying loudly as he went.  I had to go about my own business then, but I assume that cow had success as well since, while I still see the outlines of ribs and spines, I have yet to see any of those animals earless.

            Sometimes some braying donkey of a human comes along and tries to chew on our ears.  I am afraid that too often we let him when we should be turning aside and, if he is persistent, finding a bush to stick our heads into.  As long as there is a market for gossip and slander, there will be people to fill the need, and when we listen we are no better than they because we find pleasure in their sin. 

            Gossip can accomplish a lot, and none of it good.  It can ruin friendships, break up families, divide churches, and permanently stain reputations.  It has been going on since Satan, the “slanderer,” told Eve that God was just a selfish tyrant who did not want to share.  Look where that got all of us.

            Today, when someone comes to you with the latest “dirt,” find a bush and stick your head into it.  Don’t let that person chew on your ears.  Sooner or later he will get the message and move on.  

He who goes about as a tale-bearer reveals secrets; therefore company not with him who opens wide his lips. Prov 20:19.

Dene Ward

We live on a slope.  The grade is gradual, so gradual you don’t really see it until it rains one of those sub-tropical downpours for which Florida is famous.  When four inches comes down in less than an hour, the property becomes a river one or two inches deep flowing downhill to the run just past the property line.

            After the rain stops, the draining continues, though it slows to three or four tributaries and eventually two larger “rivers.”  One runs through the front yard, between the bird feeders, down around the house, across the septic drain field and off the property.  Another slants southeast through the PVC pipe culvert Keith installed under the road twenty-nine years ago, down the berm on the top edge of the garden and on east. 

            Usually within a couple of hours most of the water has drained, but puddles still fill a few low areas, and you learn where and how to walk for the next day or two.  On sandy land, the puddles dry up quickly, unless it’s the second weekend in a row with a four inch toad strangler.

            We learned early on to avoid those low spots for several days.  We first met one of our neighbors when we asked him to pull our car out of the mud with his tractor at least three times in one week.  Two months ago, for the first time in many years, he had to come down and do it again.  I knew what had happened when, after two deluges in one week, I heard that truck engine roar and looked out the window to see the back tires spinning and mud flying ten feet behind them.

            When you are stuck in the mud, you can’t move.  The wheels may rotate but all you do is dig ruts and uproot grass.  The harder you press the accelerator, the deeper the ruts and the less you move.  Even rocking the truck back and forth becomes impossible.

            Sometimes we get stuck in the spiritual mud.  It comes first with complacency.  We are happy with what we know and where we are, so we sit down, clasp our hands, and contentedly lean back with our feet up on the desk.  Proverbs speaks of the results of being a complacent “sluggard.”  Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest; so shall your poverty come as a robber, and your want as an armed man, 24:33,34.  Tell me the same thing won’t happen when we stop working on our spirituality.

            It isn’t just a matter of continuing to learn, though that is important.  An older woman in one of my classes has expressed appreciation for the new things I teach her.  “At my age it’s hard to find something new,” she said, “but you have given me that and it’s wonderful.”  Yes, the older you are, the more difficult it should be to find something new to learn, so you certainly cannot sit back and fold your hands in slumber—you must work even harder to find those things and they will be even deeper than the “first principles,” and require yet more thought and labor.

            But it is also a matter of progress.  I see people who haven’t changed one whit in thirty years, who still fight the same battles, who still fail the same way again and again.  I see people who still gossip, who still judge unfairly, who are still oversensitive and too easily offended.  I see people who still have their priorities upside down instead of finally learning the higher value of the spiritual over the carnal.  I see people who have come no closer to mastering self-control than when they were young and foolish—they just become too weary to go at it in their old age and that is all that has moderated their passions.

            So today, check to see where you stand—or wallow.  Are you stuck in the mud of worldliness and pleasure?  Are you glued in the mire of wealth and possessions and financial security?  Are you floundering in the quagmire of man’s philosophy and false theology?  Pull yourself out and start moving again.  If you cannot do it alone, call a neighbor to help.  That’s why God put us all here together. 

            And when the storms come into your life again, use your head—stay away from the low spots.  Find the high ground of spirituality and keep on climbing. 

I waited patiently for Jehovah; And he inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay; And he set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And he has put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: Many shall see it, and fear, And shall trust in Jehovah. Psalms 40:1-3.

Dene Ward

            We had a storm a few days ago.  That in itself is not unusual.  Summer afternoons in Florida often include thunderstorms that go as quickly as they come.  But it reminded me of one we had a few years back, when Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, was still alive.  That was not an ordinary storm. 

            You could hear it coming for about an hour, thunder in the distance, black clouds boiling in an increasing breeze that brought the smell of rain and ozone.  Finally the bottom fell out.  You could hardly see the bushes right outside the windows it was raining so hard.  Afterward, checks on the clock and the rain gauge would show that it rained 1.9 inches in 20 minutes.  Before long, we saw the fruit of Keith’s hours and hours of backbreaking labor, hauling dirt with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, creating a berm around the house.  It looked like we were on an island in the middle of a river, its strong current at least four inches deep as the water rushed down the slope, around the house, and toward the run to the east of us.  It would keep running nearly two hours after the rain stopped, and we drained just fine, but meanwhile I found myself humming, “The rains came down and the floods came up…”

            Suddenly lightning struck in the trees just across the fence to the north.  The clap was so loud I screamed, and even Keith, out in the shed without his hearing aids, heard it, and saw a ball of fire at the top of a pine at the same time.  He said Magdi shot out from her favorite place under the porch, eyes wide as saucers, circling here and there in the pouring rain looking for someplace safe.  He called her into the shed, normally a forbidden place, and petted her dripping and quivering sides until she calmed down.  We never saw Chloe until after the storm, but when we did, her tail was plastered down hard between her legs, the end of it curled up under her belly.  It didn’t come back up for two days.

            That reminded me of the Israelites’ reaction to God at Mt Sinai.  They were so terrified of the darkness, thunder, and lightning that they begged Moses that God would no longer speak to them.  I find Moses’ reply interesting:  Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you that you may not sin, Ex 20:20.

            I think that might just be our problem.  We aren’t afraid enough any more. 

            I can remember when a certain phrase was not only forbidden in polite society, it was certainly never said on television or radio.  It was considered “taking the Lord’s name in vain.”  Now I hear it all the time, even from children.  When ten-year-olds have an abbreviation for it in their text messages, “omg,” something has been lost in our reverence for God.

            The Word of God is called a book of myths, even by people who claim to live by it, even by some who claim to be its ministers.  Religions people are pictured in fiction and drama as bigots, fanatics, hypocrites or maniacs. God, Jesus, Satan, and the struggle against sin are used as comic foils by entertainers.  When I start thinking about how far we have gone down this road, it’s a wonder to me that lightning isn’t popping around us constantly.

            We, the people of God, have even taken the concept of “the fear of God” and watered it down to the point that it means nothing more than the respect we might show our own fathers.  Isaiah, when he had seen merely a vision of God said, Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts, 6:5.  Isaiah was feeling a whole lot more than simple respect.  If there was ever a time when he could overcome sin more easily, it was probably in the weeks and months after that vision. 

            I have a feeling that if we ever stood in the presence of God we would finally understand what the fear of God is all about.  Some day we will.  I just hope it is not too late.

Any one who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.  How much worse punishment, do you think, will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace?  For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine.  I will repay,” and again, “The Lord will judge his people.”  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Heb 10:28-31.

Dene Ward

One thing I seldom have is an unprepared student.  I don’t think it’s because my lessons are so interesting.  I don’t think it’s because they are so much fun to do.  Most of the time they take a good hour, and often more.  Yet my students show up again and again with something written down.  It may not always be what I am after, and usually that is my fault, but at least they tried and I am grateful to them for the effort. 

            Every teacher appreciates a prepared student.  If you are given something to read, then read it.  If you are given an outline, then go over it.  Make a few notes, look up the scriptures cited, and list any questions that might have risen in your mind.  The teacher may answer them in the class, but then again, s/he may not. 

            I usually write my own Bible class material, including scriptures to read and questions to answer.  I try to design questions that will lead the students to their own discoveries.  I know it has worked when they arrive excited, hardly able to contain themselves over the things have learned and the ideas they have unearthed in all that digging.  Usually those ideas are what I am aimed at, but we cannot get there if the preparation wasn’t done beforehand, and these women usually have.  If we had to spend the time on the fundamentals for the unprepared, the excitement would die in those who have done the work.  In fact, I usually continue on for the sake of the prepared.  If someone is left behind because of their own laziness, why should the others suffer?  Maybe they will do better the next time.  Sometimes being a teacher means you must make hard decisions, and sometimes it means a little discipline toward the student.  But I seldom have that problem due to these dedicated students.

            As to those who do prepare but feel like they must have missed something: it may very well be the fault of the person who wrote the material—in this case, me.  Sometimes a question is poorly worded.  I know that despite copious and careful editing, I still cannot see every way that a question might be interpreted.  So answer to the best of your ability—that’s what my ladies do.  Why should you be embarrassed if it’s the questioner’s fault and not yours?  I can guarantee you that even if you missed the point, you still learned something from reading the Word of God and thinking about it.

            But there is an even more important preparation—an open mind.  An openly skeptical student usually thinks he is keeping a teacher humble, or being careful with the truth, either of which excuses his behavior, to him anyway.  What he’s really doing is hurting himself because he is refusing to consider anything he hasn’t already learned.  Certainly a student should “beware of false teachers,” but everyone deserves a fair hearing.  Skepticism has already judged and convicted before hearing a word.  Any teacher who has spent hours preparing and dares to put himself in front of a group deserves better than that.

            Especially in an ongoing class of busy women, teachers understand when preparation time is sometimes impossible.  As a teacher whose lessons are more complicated than most, I understand better than most.  So should the student stay away if she is not prepared?

            Absolutely not.  Many have come on anyway, and for that I thank them.  If you have that open mindset, you can still learn.  They always bring a pen and listen and write.  If you have done this and still find yourself hopelessly lost, rather than delay the rest of the class, ask for a private session.  I have held those more than once, and teachers should be happy to do it.  But don’t ever deprive yourself of an hour of encouragement and exhortation with your sisters because you feel embarrassed.  Have you caught onto this yet?  Embarrassment will get in the way of your being a good student more than practically anything else.  Don’t let the Devil have his way with you.  You can still learn something, even if you have not prepared the lesson.  Your mind will be stimulated to greater understanding and insights. 

            So here is your first lesson, care of my wonderful students:  Prepare your lesson as well as you are able; prepare your mind every time.

…and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace, Eph 6:15.

Dene Ward

This year we picked our first garden produce in the middle of May.  Finding that first inch long green bean hiding among the thick spade-shaped foliage gives you a thrill, but seeing the first shiny green silks spewing out of the corn shucks and the tassels creeping out of the top positively makes your mouth water.  When it has been nearly a year since sinking your teeth into a row of crisp, juicy, buttered and salted kernels, the anticipation is intense.

            If you are not a gardener you might not truly appreciate the sacrifice of the firstfruits under the Old Law.  Every gardener knows that the first picking is the best.  As time passes, the corn and beans toughen.  The tomatoes and peppers become smaller and smaller and rot more quickly from the many blemishes.  The cucumbers turn yellow and overblown before they reach their full length.  Yet we have the frozen food section at the grocery store and a produce section that brings food from places where the firstfruits are just appearing.  Many of us have never seen anything but the firstfruits.

            I’ve often heard that certain frozen and canned vegetables are more reliably good than the fresh.  They are picked at their peak and processed within hours.  We can have the best any time of the year, and we take it for granted.  The devout Israelite never had that opportunity.  It was ingrained in him from birth:  the best belongs to the Lord.

            All the best of the oil, and all the best of the vintage, and of the grain, the first-fruits of them which they give unto Jehovah...The first-ripe fruits of all that is in their land, which they bring unto Jehovah… (Numbers 18:12-13)

            As a dedicated Hebrew watched his crops grow, his cattle bear, his vines hang lower and lower with the heaviness of ripening fruit, he knew that the best would not be for him, but an offering to the Lord.

            And this shall be the priests' due from the people, from them that offer a sacrifice, whether it be ox or sheep, that they shall give unto the priest the shoulder, and the two cheeks, and the maw. The first-fruits of your grain, of your new wine, and of your oil, and the first of the fleece of your sheep, shall you give him. For Jehovah your God has chosen him out of all your tribes, to stand to minister in the name of Jehovah, him and his sons forever. Deuteronomy 18:3-5.

            The pious Israelite knew that the best of the fruits of his labor would be eaten not by his family, but by Jehovah’s priests, his representatives on earth. 

            The first of the first-fruits of your ground you shall bring into the house of Jehovah your God. Exodus 23:19.

            Not just the firstfruits, but the first of the firstfruits—the best of the best—was required in his service to God.

            Most of us have learned that our weekly contribution of money must be “purposed” (2 Cor 9:7).  But we haven’t learned to apply that axiom to every aspect of our lives.  Too often God gets nothing but our leftover time, our leftover energy, our leftover effort.  I’ve heard Christian talk about exercising when their bodies are at their peaks, about avoiding certain times of the day for important work, about matching body rhythms to tasks.  Do we ever talk like that our about service to God?  Do we offer service that is well planned, organized for maximum efficiency, and timed for greatest effect?  Yes, we often talk about caring for our temples (bodies) so we can use them for God, but then we use all that energy for everything else instead and still God gets the leftovers.

            The principle of the firstfruits was so important the Hezekiah included it in his great restoration (2 Chron 31:5).  It was deemed so necessary to a true attitude of worship that Nehemiah charged the returning exiles to keep those ordinances in particular ( Neh 10:35-39).

            We sing a hymn:  “Give of Your Best to the Master.”  That principle has not changed.  In fact, we are the firstfruits (James 1:18), “brought forth by the word of truth.”  As such, God expects us to give ourselves.  If we do, the rest will follow.  If it hasn’t, maybe we need to take a closer look at our “devotion.”

…but they first gave themselves to God…2 Cor 8:5.                                     

Dene Ward                                                           

            Now that it has become more dangerous, I don’t walk with the dogs for exercise any longer.  I trip over too many invisible roots, step in too many hidden holes, roll along on too many sneaky little pine cones, and therefore either fall or come close too many times a week.  Then there are the snakes with their natural camouflage.  I wouldn’t see one before it struck.

            So Keith has bought me an elliptical machine.  Actually this gadget is pretty neat.  It tells me how many miles I have gone and how many calories I have burned, which is a little disappointing.  Oh, for a workout that burns 500 calories in 20 minutes without making you feel like you might die any second!

            But it’s not the same as walking outside.  I miss the fresh air, the waves of wildflower colors in the field, the butterflies flitting across my path, the scent of jasmine wafting along in the breeze.  I miss my little furry companions romping on ahead of this tortoise of a human.  I will say this for the machine, though—it is a lot closer to the five mile jog I did some twenty-five years ago than the three mile stroll I have taken with the dogs in the past few years.  Whew!

            The apostle John called life a walk with God.  If we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, 1 John 1:7.  Enoch and Noah both walked with God in a faithful life, Gen 5:22; 6:9.  Paul tells us The Lord is at hand, Phil 4:5.  It does help us get through our trials to know he is with us constantly as we go. 

            Sometimes though we act like this walk is what matters the most.  It isn’t.  This life is the elliptical machine, not the real walk. 

            Similarly, we often make our lives the destination instead of the walk.  We forget that life is just a motel room as we make the trek.  Maybe some of us have circumstances in life that make our temporary inn an upscale model, but it is still just that—temporary.  You don’t put down roots in a Motel 6.  You don’t even put down roots in a Hilton.  You certainly don’t file a change of address with the post office.  And so our roots are not on this earth.

            God wants this life to be good, but we need to remember that no matter how well life here may be going, it is still not the one that matters.  There is another walk coming, a walk that is not a journey at all, but a permanent home in a paradise where God will once again visit his people just like He used to every evening in that original home he made.  We make this walk every day, so we can take that one forever.

Yet you still have a few names in Sardis, people who have not soiled their garments, and they will walk with me in white for they are worthy.  The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the Book of Life.  I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels, Rev 3:3,4.

Dene Ward

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My largest flower bed, a couple of hundred square feet, is about 75% volunteers.  Every year I plant a couple of new things, but by and large the plot reseeds itself with black-eyed Susans, zinnias, marigolds, and Mexican petunias.  Instead of planned formality it becomes a riot of color—orange, red, rust, pink, burgundy, purple, white, and tons of yellow.  About the first of June it is at its best, and has even been featured in the photos of friends and family.

            The black-eyed Susans have a way of coming up just about anywhere—in the field, in the yard, up by the gate, around the bird feeders.  I never know where one will shoot up during any given spring. A shallow ditch runs along the west side of my large riotous flower bed.  This year that ditch was full of black-eyed Susans—even more than in the bed.

            As the spring progressed, that ditch also became full of weeds and grass.  I spent over an hour one morning cleaning it out.  Along with it went some of those pretty, brown-centered, yellow flowers.  I thought about it long and hard, but I knew this:  those weeds would just get more and more entrenched and eventually choke out the flowers anyway.  And even if they didn’t, the flowers would just call attention to the tall grass around them, and all anyone would think would be, “Ugh.”  So I transplanted what I could back into the bed, hoping they would survive the rough treatment of having grass roots pulled out from among their own, and then just chopped out the rest along with all the weeds.  It’s not like I didn’t have a plethora of them anyway.  They are all over the property.

            Which brings me to this:  what we often think of as beauty can be completely overwhelmed by ugliness.  Why can’t our young men see that a beautiful young girl is anything but beautiful when she acts like a trollop and dresses like a harlot?  Why can’t a young woman see that a handsome young man spoils those good looks with the filthy words that come out of his mouth and the intemperate behavior of a drunk, or a lecher, or anything else he allows to control his life?  Why don’t they understand that if they are only attracted by outward beauty, their values are as shallow as a drop of water on a hot griddle, and just as likely to evaporate?  Maybe because we haven’t taught them any better.

            Many years ago I stood in the receiving line at a wedding and heard a few feet away a woman who claimed to be a Christian saying, “He’s such a good looking young man.  It’s a shame he couldn’t find someone prettier.”  Never mind the young bride in question had a beautiful and loving character, she wasn’t pretty enough on the outside.

            I have heard women getting excited over a new dress or a new pair of shoes and then bored about a conversion.  I have seen men eagerly discussing cars or guns or sports, and turning away in apathy at a spiritual discussion.  I have seen people happy to discuss their misfortunes to anyone who will listen, while ignoring their blessings.  Do you think our children don’t see these examples?

            We teach them what to care most about, and they follow our examples all through their lives.  If I want my child to develop a deep relationship with God, then it’s time I had one myself.

            Tell your children what true beauty is, and then show them.  Make yourself beautiful with your good works, with your kind demeanor, with your loving spirit.  If you don’t, they may never learn what constitutes true beauty until they are mired in a horrible relationship that eventually ruins their lives.  The flowers in the ditch may be beautiful, but is that really where you want them to spend their lives?

           

Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman with no discretion, Prov 11:22.

Dene Ward

After one of my several eye surgeries I was actually examined by two veterinarians.  Remember, I am one of the prime teaching tools at the University of Florida Medical School.  These young Dr Doolittles were doing research in pain.  Their patients cannot tell them how they feel, so they were visiting human post-op cases to ask how they felt after various types of surgery.  It was the only way to know how the animals were feeling.

            My doctor took them to three different patients, an easy case, a moderate case, and then me—the extreme.  I answered their questions with accompanying explanations by my physician, shook their hands, and on they went.  Maybe some child’s pet bunny rabbit will have an easier time of it because of a ten minute delay in my own case—and putting up with a few jokes afterward.

            Isn’t that what Jesus did for us?  Well, no, not exactly.  Instead of asking a few questions, he went through the surgery himself.  How else was Deity to understand temptation, fear, pain, anguish, sorrow, desperation, or even relatively petty things like hunger, thirst, and weariness?  He did it when he counted not being on an equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, Phil 2:6.  He did it by being tempted in all points like we are, Heb 4:15.  It was really the only way.

            And now He knows.  Now He can tell His Father in words Deity can understand what it is like to be human.   Then He can turn around and tell us how to overcome, how to persevere, how to be faithful even to the point of death, Rev 2:10 because he understands our problems too.

            Don’t make His sacrifice be for nothing.

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  This same was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth, John 1:1-3, 14.

Dene Ward

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