I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase, 1 Cor 3:6. 

            We should probably talk some more about that discouragement issue because it never goes away.  You teach and teach and teach; you invite at every opportunity that comes along; you serve and reach out, and yet it seems like nothing comes of it.  If you aren’t careful, you stop trying.  It isn’t doing any good, is it?  That is not for me to say. 

            I told you before of the young woman I tried to reach so long ago.  Just because I have no contact with her now, doesn’t mean nothing came of it.  I remember having discussions during free periods in high school.  I took friends to Bible study with me.  I wrote essays in English class that I knew would be passed around the class for comment.  I have never seen anything come from any of that, but as Keith often says, I don’t need to be whittling on God’s end of the stick.  He is the one who gives the increase.  When I start meddling in His affairs, I become disheartened.  If I stick with my own end, I will stay too busy to worry about the results.

            I suppose my biggest dose of discouragement came a couple of years ago.  Some new neighbors had moved in a few years before and she and I became friends.  I easily recruited her to a local community service club, but anything religiously oriented was a different story.  So I invited her to a coffee at my home where she met some of my church family.  So far, so good.  I invited her to our women’s Bible study, and immediately she distanced herself.  Too much too soon, I thought, so I had a church friend whose decorating ability she had shown interest in, invite her to lunch at her home, along with another church sister.  An instant yes, but then as the day approached my neighbor suddenly developed something else she had to do.

            So I backed off again.  I still mentioned the church to her as often as possible, telling her how wonderful they were.  I made sure she knew about all the help I received after all the surgeries, and she was genuinely impressed so I invited again, including a written invitation.  Still nothing. 

            Then one day, her husband called to tell me she had died without warning.  No one even knew she had been sick.  In fact, we had talked on the phone just three days before.  It was like a kick in the stomach.  I do not believe I have ever felt quite so discouraged in my sowing duties.

            That is exactly what the enemy wants, and that is exactly why you need to stop worrying about God’s end of the stick.  When the depression is accompanied by grief it is especially debilitating.  All you need to remember is this:  Just. Keep. Sowing! 

            Since that time I have suddenly had more opportunities to speak to people.  God is encouraging me, I thought, so I have tried to do my part as well.  I am anything but the Great Evangelist, but here are a few things I have tried. 

            When I have the car maintenance done, I purposely make the appointment right before ladies’ Bible class so I can use the shuttle service to the class.  You would be surprised how many drivers want to know what I will be teaching, and then ask about the church.  I have even managed to give out a few tracts.

            When I buy my groceries I do it before Bible class and then have the bagger put the cold things into my cooler.  “I have to teach a Bible class before I go home,” I explain, and that has led to conversations too.

            I carry my Bible and my notebook to doctor’s appointments and write these little essays there.  As many appointments as I have, surely someone will be interested some day.  Even the cleaning lady recognizes me now.

            I have no idea if any of these things will bear fruit, but I do “consider him faithful who has promised,” Heb 11:11, and he promised to see to the growth of the seed if I just sow it.

            Don’t become depressed when you don’t see results from your work.  That part is none of your business.  Just keep sowing the seed.  You do your part, and He will do His.
 
What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you believed, as the Lord assigned to each. I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. He who plants and he who waters are one, and each will receive his wages according to his labor. 1 Corinthians 3:5-8.
 
Dene Ward

A long time ago a young woman I had met in the small town where we lived asked me for some advice.  Her marriage was suffering and she didn’t know what to do. I was too young for her to be asking me, but she had found out I was “a preacher’s wife,” and thought that automatically made me a font of wisdom.  When she finally asked her question, my answer came easily (and with a sigh of relief).  The problem was a perfect fit for a scripture in Corinthians and I simply had her read what the inspired apostle said about it.  I didn’t have to say a word.

              Her mouth hung open in shock.  “That’s the answer,” she said.  “But why haven’t my own church leaders been able to show me this verse?”  It was not a difficult passage to find.  Anyone who has grown up attending Bible classes in the church would know where to find it.  The fact that men who called themselves her spiritual leaders could not help her with the same passage gave me an opening, and we began a Bible study that lasted several weeks. 

              I was far too idealistic.  I thought when people saw it in black and white, they would instantly change, and that left me wide open for hurt and discouragement.  We finally reached a point where her conscience was pricked and she was floundering about, wondering what to do. 

              “Would you come again next week and talk to my church leaders too?” she asked, and what could twenty-two year old me say, but “Of course, if you don’t mind if my husband comes with me.”  She agreed enthusiastically.

              All of us met the next Tuesday evening at her home, me with all sorts of great expectations, and an hour long discussion ensued.  To make a long story short, they simply told us that they had more faith than we did because they would accept a piece of literature as inspired which contained neither internal nor external evidences, the kind of evidences that make the Bible obviously true.  I was flabbergasted, and learned my first lesson—some people will believe what they want to believe, not what is reasonable to believe.

              The next week I went to her home on Tuesday morning for our usual study.  She met me at the door and, with tears in her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry.  They told me I can’t study with you any more.”

                 “But don’t you want to?  I helped you when they couldn’t.” 

              “I know,” she said.  “But they are my leaders, and I have to obey them.”

              Talk about discouraging.  What do you do when someone who is good-hearted and clearly sees the truth allows herself to be taken in by people who obviously cannot—or will not--even help her with her problems?  It isn’t just the stubborn and willful who reject the word of God, another new lesson for me to learn.  In fact, it takes strength of will to accept it when it means you must stand against friends and family, and when your life will experience an instant upheaval. 

              So here is the main lesson today:  Be careful whom you trust.  Be careful whom you allow to direct your path, and have the gumption to take responsibility for your own soul.  If someone who wanted the truth could allow it to slip through her fingers so easily at the word of people who were never there for her until it became obvious their numbers might go down, it could happen to you too.  The religious leaders in Jesus’ day looked down on the people with scorn (John 7:49), yet those very people followed them right down the road to Calvary, berating a man who had stood up for them more than once to those same leaders, pushing him to his crucifixion. 

              And here is another lesson:  don’t let your idealism make you vulnerable to discouragement.  I will always remember that young woman.  We moved far away not long afterward. As far as I know she stayed where she was religiously, and never found her way out of it.  But I do have this hope—I planted a seed.  God is the one who sees to the increase, 1 Cor 3:6.  Don’t ever in your mind deny God the power to make that seed grow.  I am not as idealistic as I used to be, but I still hope that someday I will meet her again, standing among the sheep.
 
But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, bringing upon themselves swift destruction. And many will follow their sensuality, and because of them the way of truth will be blasphemed. And in their greed they will exploit you with false words. Their condemnation from long ago is not idle, and their destruction is not asleep. 2 Peter 2:1-3
 
Dene Ward

In case you don't really understand Irma's magnitude, from east to west, it was 650 miles wide—the Florida peninsula averages 130 miles in width.  15,000,000 people in Florida alone were without power.  25% of the homes in Key West were completely destroyed, another 65% incurred major damage.  70,000 sq miles were impacted by at least tropical storm force winds.  The highest winds recorded were 185 mph.  That speed was maintained for 37 straight hours.  Over six million Floridians were told to evacuate.  Another few million did so voluntarily.  The score calculated by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) when measuring the power of hurricanes was 66.8, compared to 11.1 for Hurricane Harvey, and we all watched the devastation from that one (statistics from "Breaking Down Irma by the Numbers" on architecturaldigest.com).

              That is what we Floridians had to look forward to as Irma approached our coasts.  In the past we have had Category 2 and 3 storms hit the coast and, by the time they reached us, diminish to Category 1 or even mere tropical storm force (which is not as "mere" as it sounds when you are in the middle of it).  This one was to hit as a 5.  Everyone told us it would still be a 3 by the time it reached us.  That is why we counted our home as lost, carefully packing what was most important to us in the car and truck and moving them as far from the trees as we could, out into the field. 

              That is also why we spent the night that Irma came through in the car.  Would the car be blown over with us in it?  Possibly.  But far better that than being crushed under a thousand pound limb falling on the house, or being injured or maimed by the flying glass and debris when the roof blew off.  So as darkness fell and the wind and rain picked up, we scampered out to the car and climbed inside. 

              The backseat was crammed with a cooler and two boxes, so lowering the seat backs for a better sleeping position was minimal.  We clasped hands and said our final "together" prayer, and then did our best to go to sleep, which amounted to me being quiet for Keith, who was being quiet for me, as both of us sat/lay there with our eyes wide open, each praying our own continuous private prayer all night long.

              We had left the porch light on for our trip out into the field.  We are used to utter darkness out here in the country, no traffic lights, street lamps, or passing headlights, so that light was intrusive, but it also gave us a small sense of security.  Imagining what was going on would have been much worse.  Finally we both drifted off out of sheer exhaustion from the days of preparation before as well as a cold we had shared that week, and when I woke again I had to use the flashlight to see my watch.  It was 2:30 and the porch light was out.

              We had no idea what was happening, where the storm was, how strong it was.  Several times in the night, the wind howled a bit more loudly and the car rocked.  What surprised me was that behind those thick clouds a full moon actually filtered through, casting a soft gray light and it was no longer black as pitch as it had been earlier.  Still, we could not tell what was happening.

              After a couple of hours we drifted back off again, rocking in our metal cradle.  At seven, almost as if an alarm had gone off, we both opened our eyes to dim daylight.  We looked out the rain-dribbled windshield and saw a 35 year old manufactured home all in one piece.  No debris, no missing roof, no broken windows.  Lots of yard trash, but no monster limbs crushing anything.  Keith got out into the rain to start up the generator and I flipped on the car radio.  The storm had weakened much more quickly than expected.  If it passed over Gainesville as a Category 1, by the time it reached us, it was to the west and down to tropical storm force winds. 

              Keith came back for me then, and we rolled up our pant legs.  The waters were running off all around us nearly six to eight inches deep as the property drained, but we stood there and hugged each other and shouted a thank you over the slackening wind and rain, tears running down our faces.  God had answered all those prayers, and if you think one thank you was all He got from us, you still don't understand hurricanes and the One who made them.  Even now, over a month later, we are still saying thank you.

              And what did we learn from that?  A question popped up in our minds.  How many times have we said thank you for the sacrifice our Lord made to save our souls in the same fashion we said thank you for his saving our physical home, and a humble one at that?  How many times have we grabbed each other in pure, unadulterated joy and wept real tears over our salvation?  Once, maybe, at our baptism; another time or two when a particular sermon or talk hit us right between the eyes.

              We've been mulling that over for several weeks now.  I hope this week has helped you consider it, too.
 
Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. (2Cor 9:15)
 
Dene Ward

I remember thinking once when I stepped into my sons' bedroom and saw toys lying everywhere, "It looks like a whirlwind came through here."  Actually it didn't look half that bad.

              When daylight dawned after Irma blew through, the mess was astounding.  Trees had fallen across roads—huge water oaks bigger around than your kitchen table, pine trees taller than telephone poles, or enormous, tree-sized limbs from the live oaks.  Branches, limbs, moss and other air plants, brushwood and smaller sprigs of leaves, all lay across yards and fields.  For some folks shingles littered their property, for others pieces of eaves and white aluminum roof-overs lay twisted across the grass.  For still others, siding and whole roofs lay torn and scattered by the winds.  You could tell where the tornadoes had plowed through—trees lay in every direction like a pile of pickup sticks, their branches stripped bare of leaves.

              The clean-up started immediately.  First order of business was to start the generator so we didn't lose the thousand dollars' worth of food in the freezer and fridge.  It also gave us a couple of outlets for a lamp and a fan.  Then we set up the camp stove on the porch to avoid heating up an un-coolable house, and started the stovetop coffeepot.  After a quick breakfast , it was time to get to work.

             We tried to contact family.  For some reason we had a phone for a few minutes that morning and were able to reach our boys and my mother.  All were well and undamaged.  Then the landline went out and cell service was spotty and downright weird.  My phone kept trying to call out by itself, but of course, it couldn't.  Even on a good day I can only get one bar out here and only next to one window in the house.  Though we had those few outlets next to the fridge and freezer due to the generator, my cell would not charge.  We lost it completely the third day. 

            Then it was time to check on neighbors.  We had heard the whine and rev of chainsaws earlier in the day, and because of them we were able to get down the highway, which was covered in sawdust from the tree and limb removal.  Everyone looked all right so we headed back to our own mess.

           And what do you do?  First, you haul in the water.  Heavy five gallon buckets, one next to each toilet for flushes, trying your best not to slosh it on the laminate floors.  They don't much like pools of water.

            Then you unpack.  All those things we had placed in the truck and car were unloaded, unpacked and put back into place.  Then we started on the outside.

             Keith swept off the roof, which was carpeted with twigs and leaves, and the carport which sat covered in an inch of blown-in water, and caked with mud on the edges.  We toweled off the outdoor furniture and unlashed the garbage cans.  We put the bird feeders back on their poles and filled them up.  Then came the hard part.

            Our garden cart holds about 10 cubic feet, Keith thinks, at least 6 five gallon buckets.  We filled it up half again as high as the walls sixteen times as we traversed the yard, back and forth for two days.  Bend over, lift, and drop; bend over, lift and drop.  Over and over and over until our backs ached and our heads swam from the changing height.  The temperature was slightly better than a usual September day in Florida—88 maybe instead of 93, but the humidity was nearly 100% from all the water everywhere.  It has been my experience with people that you really don't understand that until you have lived in it.  We were without an air conditioner for 9 days.  The doors swelled and became difficult to open and close.  The salt became one huge block, even in those "guaranteed" plastic sealed containers.  The dining chair backs were sticky in our hands and the table was covered with condensation every morning.  The only way to get the bath towels dried out between uses was to hang them in direct sunlight for several hours, praying for a good stiff breeze.  And that's why 88 felt more like 98 and we wound up soaking wet.

             But remember what I said about the usual September day down here?  Normally the 90s don't leave us before October, and even then we might have a day or two when they return, all the way till November, with a heat index over 100.  Yet I have noticed that after every hurricane we get a little break.  A day in the 80s was a reprieve we all needed.  And the weather continued that way for 3 or 4 days before the 90s began to show up again.  By then, for us, the brutal outdoor work was done. 

             I thought of the rainbow then, the one after the flood.  God gave them a sign that such a catastrophe would never happen again.  We know we will have more hurricanes, but we also know that God is aware of our needs.  Maybe those more moderate temperatures are His way of showing us that He cares.  We may be hurt by the warnings He has sent to a people who continually reject Him, but He will still show His mercy in ways that only the righteous may be able to understand.  For me, it led to far less griping about the inconveniences—no power, no running water, no means of communication.  It could have been so much worse, and for others it was, especially in the Caribbean, the Keys and South Florida.  But they, too, felt the cooler air for at least awhile, whether they acknowledged who sent it or not.

            God never promised to keep the storms of life away from us, but He has always promised to be with us as we endure them.
 
​For you have been a stronghold to the poor, a stronghold to the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat…(Isa 25:4)
 
Dene Ward

We woke Sunday, September 10, to the bluster of a nor'easter blowing in from the Atlantic to our east off the Jacksonville coast.  The wind tore at the tops of the trees and rain splattered against the house.  "Is this Irma?" I wondered at first, even though I knew it was too early, and soon discovered what it actually was.  From then on, things just got worse as Irma did approach us from the south.  Traffic on the highway ceased.  Children's voices as they played outside stopped.  I have never heard complete silence around this place.  Even before so many others moved in, something was always chirping, tweeting or crowing, mooing, bawling, or screeching.  But not that afternoon.  The birds knew what lay ahead, as did the animals.  Perhaps they even heard what I could not.

              Finally in the darkness we heard her come.  Rain didn't patter on the metal roof, it roared.  It came cruising across the field one white sheet at a time, crashing against the sides of the house like a giant had thrown an equally gigantic bucket of water against us.  It never came straight down.

              Then the winds began to out-roar the rain.  It seemed to start three or four sections over and come closer and closer and closer until it suddenly slammed us, only to start again.  That's when the whumps and thumps started.  The first time it was a limb, as big around as a man's thigh and about 8 feet long.  It missed the house.  The next time it was a slightly smaller limb and further from the house.  The third time it was a clatter as a green branch, the looks and size of a shrub hit the carport roof and bounced off. 

              It continued all night.  The house creaked, the metal screeched, and occasionally something we thought we had secured fell over or slid in the wind.  At 1:10 AM the lights flashed four times, but stayed on.  At 2:30 they went out completely.

              With all that going on, we did not get much sleep that night, but as the morning hours began to dawn, we both finally slept the sleep of exhaustion, hours of preparation and tension both bringing us at least a couple hours of rest.  We woke at 7 when the gray light finally gave us a view of the results.  And then the sounds completely changed.

              Chainsaws started almost immediately, clearing fallen trees from highways and driveways.  Generators roared to life all around us.  It isn't that we live that close to our neighbors, but generators are notoriously noisy monsters.  Big utility trucks rumbled by on the highways, surveying the damage and planning how to fix it.

              We got in the truck and tootled down the highway to check on our neighbors.  We passed mounds of sawdust where fallen trees had already been removed and then came to the Olustee Creek and heard another new sound—water lapping over the bridge.  It became apparent then that this would be a flood like we had never seen in our 35 years here.  Within a day the bridges over the Santa Fe River were inundated and round hay bales in normally dry fields bobbed like corks in the swelling currents.

              And gradually things returned to normal.  By September 12, the birds were back, tweeting in what seemed like joy, flitting through our trees in numbers larger than we had ever seen.  I filled the feeders and they came to celebrate with us—cardinals, chickadees, doves, titmice, blue jays and woodpeckers, and even a wild turkey that sauntered over from the woods to check out the remains of our now scraggly garden.  The storm that had taken so many days to arrive and had flummoxed so many meteorologists as to its path was finally over.

              It seems like nowadays everyone has something stuck in their ears.  If it isn't an earbud, it's a phone.  And at home, we seem afraid to let there be silence in our lives.  The television is always on, or the radio, or the stereo.  I wonder how many people hear what is happening in their world.  I wonder how many were completely freaked out by the things they heard when the power died.  This is life, people.   This is what you are missing. 

              Hearing is important.  Just ask my husband who began losing his at 24 and had his first hearing aid at 27.  Now labeled "profoundly deaf," he can no longer hear when the engine makes a funny noise in the car and assess it.  He cannot hear the smoke alarm or the ringing telephone.  We cannot whisper at night when the lights are out.  Once it's dark and he can no longer read my lips, we're done.  He would have loved to hear his children's voices and understood what they were saying.   And here the world goes, deafening itself to the sounds the Creator gave us to help us, to protect us, even to save us.

              And the Spirit bade me go with them, making no distinction. And these six brethren also accompanied me; and we entered into the man's house: and he told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house, and saying, Send to Joppa, and fetch Simon, whose surname is Peter; who shall speak unto you words, whereby you shall be saved, you and all your house. (Acts 11:12-14)

              So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ. (Rom 10:17)

              It isn't just modern electronics that steal our hearing, it's the machinations of Satan who lies to us, who uses our culture and our selfishness against us.  That passage in Romans is followed by something we need to hear as well.  "Haven't they heard?  Yes, they have.  Didn't they understand?" but the answer to the problem is given in verse 20:  All day long I have held my hands out to a disobedient and contrary people."

              Open your ears to the Word of God and listen.  Those verses may have been said about the Jews, but that doesn't mean they cannot be true about us as well.
 
“Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. ​Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David. (Isa 55:1-3)
 
Dene Ward

Six days before Irma arrived, we stood in line at Publix with our usual week's worth of groceries.  It was 8 AM on a Tuesday.  Behind us a lady guarded her cart like a Doberman, a cart crammed and stacked with as many cases of water bottles as it would hold.  In the aisle next to us another did the same.

              The next day nearly every store of every type in town was out of bottled water.  We had to stop at one of them and a lady stood shouting frantically into her phone, "They're totally out!  What are we going to do?" 
After she hung up, Keith offered, "Ma'am?  There is still plenty of water from the tap in your kitchen sink."

                Which is exactly what we did—pull the 7 or 8 clean, empty gallon milk jugs that we keep in the shed and fill them up, along with my umpteen-quart pressure canner for drinking water and tooth brushing.  Then we filled a dozen five gallon buckets outside, plus a forty gallon barrel to use for flushes, baths, and dishwashing.  All we had to do was filter them through a cloth to get our dirt and leaves when it was time to use them. 

               I have never seen Florida prepare for a hurricane like she did for Irma.  Maybe it was the pictures coming out of Houston from hurricane Harvey a few weeks before.  Maybe it was the 185 mph winds.  Or maybe it was the sheer size of the storm.  At one point it covered the whole state except for the far western panhandle.

               I have never seen so many empty shelves in the stores.  I haven't seen long lines at the gas pumps since the gas shortage of the 1970s.  I have certainly never seen the National Guard handling those long lines when only one station out of 5 was open at an exit, the waiting cars trailing back down the off-ramp to the interstate itself.  I have never seen the evacuations, with the interstate at one point being opened to northbound traffic on both sides.

             "This is the one we never wanted to see," I heard more than one meteorologist say.  "You'd better prepare, Florida."  And prepare she did, all 21 million of her.

              And somewhere along the way I couldn't help but wonder, "Shouldn't we be preparing for the Lord this way?"  You may think you have plenty of time, but listen—for you, the Lord comes the day you die.  Once your life here is over, there are no second chances.

              And that life can end in a flash.  I have lost two cousins to automobile accidents, one in his 20s and the other at 16.  I have lost several close friends to disease in their 40s and 50s.  You just never know.

             And then there is this:  every day the Lord doesn't come is a day closer to the day He will.  And just like Irma finally arrived, so will He.

             Be prepared.
 
“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, they all became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a cry, ‘Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those virgins rose and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise answered, saying, ‘Since there will not be enough for us and for you, go rather to the dealers and buy for yourselves.’ And while they were going to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the marriage feast, and the door was shut. Afterward the other virgins came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ ​But he answered, ‘Truly, I say to you, I do not know you.’ ​Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour. (Matt 25:1-13)
 
Dene Ward

The first in a five part series that will appear every morning this week.

When you live in Florida, and probably anywhere in the Caribbean and along the Gulf Coast, you keep an eye on the weather from June 1 till November 30—hurricane season.  My earliest memory of hurricanes was Donna in 1960.  The next was Alma in 1966.  I know there were others that made a Florida landfall, Cleo and Dora, for instance, in 1964, Betsy in 65, and Inez in 66, but they must not have affected my very young life.  After that, we lived in Tampa which did not have a major hit for nearly 100 years, or so I recently heard.

              As a newlywed, we lived out of state for five years so I was hardly aware of Agnes in 72 and Eloise in 75, which created a 12-16 foot storm surge from Panama City to Ft Walton Beach.  Then we moved back to Florida and suddenly hurricanes were a fact of life again, one made more real because of the two little boys we now had to protect. 

              There was Elena in 85, which sent us to our first evacuation shelter.  Andrew in 92 was the one that really opened our eyes to the danger of hurricanes.  Good thing because Florida landfalls picked up suddenly after his arrival.  Gordon in 94 whipped around and made a U-turn, hitting Florida twice.  Erin in 95 followed suit with two landfalls in the state and then Opal arrived only a few weeks afterward with catastrophic damage.  Georges wiped out the Keys in 98 and Floyd came along the east coast in 99, giving us all a good scare.  Then 2004 brought four hurricanes over the state in only a few weeks—Charlie, Frances, Jeanne, and Ivan, which actually made its first landfall in Alabama, wiping out the Florida panhandle which sat on its dangerous eastern side, then crossing the southeast, heading back into the Atlantic, and traveling down to cross South Florida.  And those are just the highlights.

              So when Irma came rolling off the coast of Africa we kept an eye on her all the way across the Atlantic and into the Caribbean.  We watched as she grew from a tropical wave into a depression into a storm and finally into a hurricane.  We watched while her winds increased daily, peaking out at 185 mph—category 5.

              They kept telling us it would turn north—first, in time to miss the mainland altogether, then in time to miss Florida and bounce off the Carolinas, then in time to plow into Georgia.  Then we were told that Miami would take a direct hit and Irma would skirt our eastern coast and off to the northeast Atlantic.  Then the forecast moved west a bit, with this recalcitrant hurricane forecast to come straight up the spine of the state as a category 5.  By then she was really close, so that is what we had to plan for.

              If you have seen those Saffir-Simpson animations, you know what a category 5 will do to a house—destroy it.  That's what a category 2 will do to a mobile home.  We have lived in a doublewide "manufactured home" for 35 years.  Obviously we've taken care of it—a roofover, siding, skirting, hurricane tie-downs that were up to code at the time.  The inside has been practically rebuilt as the years passed and we saved enough money to do so.  But we were still facing the real possibility—probability—of losing it all.  That only took into consideration the winds, not the massive live oaks that spread their branches over us and make our air conditioning bill manageable.  Any one branch of those trees could destroy the house.

              And so we had some decisions to make.  What if we lost it all?  What would we try to save?  It surprised me how little it was.

              We packed a suitcase each of basics:  jeans, tees, underwear and socks, and a couple pairs of shoes.  After a hurricane there is neither time nor inclination for dressing up.  We packed photo albums, bank account ledgers and checks, 2 back-up thumb drives of files on the computer.

              We filled a box with our Bibles and all the notes from every class either of us has ever taught.  I added the September schedule for this blog in case I could find a way to keep it going.  Then we added probably a dozen books that were special to us, less than 5% of the total number we own.

              We are experienced campers.  If the house was destroyed, we planned to use the tent as housing until something permanent could be arranged.  So we packed a cooler, paper plates, paper towels, and cloth towels—things that needed to stay dry.  We figured we could find the rest of our camping gear in the debris.

              Everything we packed fit into the covered bed of the pickup, the trunk of the car, and its backseat. 

              I remember thinking, "We know that someday we will have to leave this place and downsize and we wondered what we would keep.  I guess we just found out."

              Keith nearly echoed my thoughts after our day of packing.  "We started from scratch 43 years ago.  We can do it again."

              There was a sadness about it, yes, and I shed a few tears, but that was all the time I had for that nonsense.  Irma was coming and time was short.  We had prayed for her demise for weeks and continued to for 24 more long hours.  But there was also a sense of acceptance as she came closer and closer.  When you pray, "Thy will be done," there must be, or it isn't really faith.
 
I hear, and my body trembles; my lips quiver at the sound; rottenness enters into my bones; my legs tremble beneath me. Yet I will quietly wait for the day of trouble to come... Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, ​yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. GOD, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer's; he makes me tread on my high places... (Hab 3:16-19). 

Dene Ward

While the boys were still at home, we raised pigs and chickens.  The chickens we kept mainly for their eggs, but when one stopped producing well, it was time for chicken and dumplings.  The pigs were meant for meat from the time they were piglets.  We named the males Hamlet and the females Baconette to remind us.  You don’t want to get close to an animal destined for the dining table, but then adult pigs are so disgusting there isn’t much danger of that anyway.

              Slaughtering chickens is not quite as traumatic as slaughtering pigs.  They are birds instead of mammals, and they are small and don’t bleed as much.  We never shielded the boys from these things.  They needed to understand where our food came from.  I think there are some city people who must think meat is left in the meat markets in the night by elves the way they go on about the cruelty of ranchers and hunters.  When you understand where it comes from, you respect the animals and appreciate them much more than you would otherwise.  Both of our boys love animals and treat them kindly but they are strong-minded enough to understand necessity too.

              Lucas learned that respect in a more difficult way than we intended.  When it was time to put down a pig, Keith got up early, killed the animal and bled him as quickly as possible, and then loaded it on the trailer for the trip to the butcher.  Three hundred pounds of dead weight meant he needed help. 

              When Lucas was finally big enough to actually help load, he went out with his dad to the pigpen and soberly watched the proceedings.  Mindful of the effect it might have on him, Keith quickly poured sand on the blood.  Then he backed the truck and trailer over to the pigpen gate and Lucas crawled in on the other side to help load the pig—stepping right into that camouflaged pool of blood.  It rose around his ankles, warm and sticky.  After his dad left for the butcher, he came in to wash his feet, a little green around the gills and pale as a ghost.  He really understood the sacrifice that pig had made to feed our family.

              I suppose that is why the Lord intended for us to have a weekly reminder of the sacrifice he made for us, in all its gore.  Too often in asking forgiveness we are like the city folks buying meat at the grocery store, not really understanding all that made that purchase possible.  We need to come to grips with the fact that our actions caused a death, a particularly horrible death.  Even more than that, we are the reason for it yet again every time we sin.  The way we treat our failings as something to laugh about or shrug off as trivial, we probably need to stand beneath that cross and step ankle deep in the still warm blood of Jesus to jolt us back into reality. 

              Sin is just as horrible as slaughter.  In fact, it caused a slaughter which will prevent another one, but not if we don’t have enough appreciation for it to make ourselves do better.
 
He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and Jehovah has laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, yet when he was afflicted he opened not his mouth; as a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and as a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth…Yet it pleased Jehovah to bruise him; he has put him to grief: when you shall make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of Jehovah shall prosper in his hand. Isa 53:5-7,10
 
Dene Ward

A few years ago Keith bought me a leaf blower for Valentine’s Day.  Yes, ladies, I know what you are thinking, but in this case you are wrong.  We don’t do diamonds.  We don’t do gold.  We don’t even do silver-plate.  We have always had to live so closely that any gift-giving occasion is treated as an excuse to buy what we need anyway.  Just ask the boys about the several Christmases when they got bedspreads, sheets, blinds, and even trash cans for their bedrooms.

              I had been spending hours every week sweeping the carport.  It was either that or spend even more time sweeping the house as the sand was tracked in.  With the blower I could get the job done in about five minutes, especially after I learned to handle the thing.  You never turn it on pointed down, unless you want a face full of sand, and be careful any direction you turn if you don’t want to blow on what you just blew off.  Even Chloe learned to keep her distance the first time I turned it on in her direction and for two days her fur looked like it had been caught in a hurricane blowing in the tail direction.

              Perhaps the most obvious point is to always blow in the direction of the wind.  I have quit trying to wait till the wind isn’t blowing, not out in the country in the middle of a field—I would never get it done.  So I settle for the couple of hours the carport looks nice afterward, and remind myself how awful it would have looked if I had just let the leaves and sand pile up.  But I have learned to test the wind.  It is much easier to blow the leaves the way the wind is blowing them anyway.  Otherwise it’s exactly like paddling upriver.  You can do it, but it takes a whole lot more work.

              But Christianity is not like a leaf blower.  The converse of the leaf blower rule may be the best way to judge most decisions you have to make as a Christian.  If it’s too easy, it’s probably the wrong decision.  If it doesn’t cost you anything, you are probably selling your soul. 

              God has always expected his people to make tough decisions.  By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward, Heb 11:24-26.  Moses chose God instead of wealth and power.

              Joseph chose prison instead of adultery, Gen 39:9.  Ruth chose a life of poverty (she thought) so she could worship God and be a part of his people rather than the comfort of her own culture, Ruth 1:16.  The apostles chose to follow an unpopular route that led to death, instead of staying in good graces with the powers that be and living a normal life.  For I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ's sake…we [are held] in disrepute. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly dressed and buffeted and homeless, and we labor, working with our own hands. When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we entreat. We have become, and are still, like the scum of the world, the refuse of all things, 1Cor 4:9-13.

              God’s people have always been challenged with this decision.  “Choose this day whom you will serve,” Joshua demanded of Israel, 24:15.  “How long will you go limping between two opinions?” Elijah asked in 1 Kgs 18:21.  Make a decision, they were saying.  We face the same challenge, and we face it every day. 

              If life has confronted you with a decision, I can almost guarantee you that the hard choice is the right one.  You have to blow against the winds of society, and even worse, the winds of self.  Christianity has never been the easy way out.  Yet, when you set your priorities correctly and think in spiritually mature terms, it’s the only obvious one.
 
I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life that you and your offspring may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days… Deut 30:19-20.
 
Dene Ward

Part 18 in a continuing series.  See the right sidebar and click on "Music" for others in this study.

Tuesday, afternoon,
I'm just beginning to see,
Now I'm on my way,
It doesn't matter to me,
Chasing the clouds away.

Something, calls to me,
The trees are drawing me near,
I've got to find out why
Those gentle voices I hear
Explain it all with a sigh.

I'm looking at myself, reflections of my mind,
It's just the kind of day to leave myself behind,
So gently swaying thru the fairy-land of love,
If you'll just come with me and see the beauty of

Tuesday afternoon.
Tuesday afternoon.

Tuesday, afternoon,
I'm just beginning to see,
Now I'm on my way,
It doesn't matter to me,
Chasing the clouds away.

Something, calls to me,
The trees are drawing me near,
I've got to find out why
Those gentle voices I hear
Explain it all with a sigh.

"The Afternoon:  Forever Afternoon" (also known as "Tuesday Afternoon")
 
              Many years ago, the Moody Blues was one of our favorite bands.  When the televised version of the Red Rock concert came on, we watched every minute of it and then bought the cassette.  (That's how we listened to recordings in those "olden" days.)  Keith had begun losing his hearing when he was in the service and was already in hearing aids at 27, so "listening" to music was difficult.  He asked me to please get him the lyrics and I did—every lyric for every song on the recording.

              As pleased as punch, he sat down and read through them.  He grew quieter and quieter as he read.  Finally he said, "I wish I did not have these lyrics.  They mean absolutely nothing, and now I don't like the music nearly as much."

              One set of those lyrics, and one of the best as I recall, opens this post.  If you haven't yet, scroll up and read them.  If you can tell me what it means, you are better than I.  Basically it's a bunch of pretentious nonsense, cotton candy fluff masquerading as "deep" thought. 

              That made me think and I began to experiment with our hymns.  Read them—don't sing them—as poetry and see what they actually say.  If necessary to keep the tune from cropping up in your mind, read them aloud.  Suddenly the hymn will become either one of your favorites or one you can easily do without.  The tune and the rhythm won't matter.

              New or old really has nothing to do with it.  Granted, the older hymns have already had a couple hundred years of culling out and as a result they may have the advantage here.  But you will still find one or two that make you feel like all you have been singing all these years is "Doo-wah-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-doo" as far as their spiritual value goes. 

            Another caveat:  save the chorus for last, don't read it over and over.  That waters down the punch of the verses.  That does not mean you should never sing the refrain more than once.  Several of the Psalms have refrains in them, Psalm 80 for instance, which repeats its refrain three times.  Obviously the Holy Spirit meant them to be read more than once—they repeat the theme.  But for this test, you need to avoid the repetition and see what's left.  Sometimes you discover that you are doing a whole lot of singing for practically nothing of worth. 

              So why do this test?  Because suddenly you will understand that it isn't the spirituality of the hymn you like, it's the rhythm or the melody or the harmony, something that did not come along until a couple of millennia after the Psalms, by the way, and early on in only rudimentary form.  And then, I hope, you will remember what our singing is supposed to be about.  "Teaching and admonishing," (Col 3:16); edifying (1 Cor 14:15-26); "a sacrifice of praise" (Heb 13:15).  If the song does not do one or more of those things, does it really need to be sung?
 
Psalm 34  A Psalm of David:  Come O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord, Psa 34:11.
 
Dene Ward