You would think after all these years that I would know better.  You should never take a brand new recipe to a potluck or try it out on guests.  There is a reason cooks talk about "tried and true" recipes.  But I saw this gorgeous "Chocolate Glazed Peanut Butter Filled Torte" in a magazine, one that is usually trustworthy, and wanted to make it.  Keith and I do not need rich desserts around the house for just us two, so taking one somewhere else means we seldom have more than a piece or two to splurge on when we bring the remains back home—which may sadden my heart, but not my waistline.  It looked good, the ingredients sounded good, and I had them all which was an added bonus.  So here we go…
 
             This was one of those uber-rich cakes with scarcely enough flour to hold it together.  When I read that I was to cut this two inch thick layer in half, fill it, and then put the top back, I should have known there would be trouble with so little flour.  And there was.  First, it sank about halfway in the middle.  That meant when I took my long serrated knife and tried to cut it in "half" there was nothing in the middle to cut.  What I cut off looked like a tire.  Calm down, I told myself as my pulse and respiration increased, the filling will show through there and it will look like it's supposed to be that way. 

              But then I tried to remove that top.  It came away in sections.  You would have thought a Lamaze class was going on I was panting so hard by then, but I carefully put the pieces on another plate and kept them all where they were supposed to go.  "There is a chocolate ganache glaze," I kept chanting.  "Ganache fixes anything!"

              I got the peanut butter filling on and learned immediately to be careful spreading it, otherwise the cake sticks to it and rolls right up over the knife.  More panting and chanting.  Finally I got the filling spread on the bottom layer.

              Now it was time to reassemble the jigsaw puzzle of a top.  Except the cake was so moist that a thin layer of it stuck to the plate the top was sitting on.  And the large sections broke into small chunks.  Gradually, I got all the pieces put back on top of the cake.  With the peanut butter filling, the torte was now nearly 3 inches high, in spite of losing a good eighth of an inch on that other plate, but it looked like a chocolate mosaic.

              No one has been happier to make ganache than I was that day.  This will cover all sins, I told myself.  It will be shiny and beautiful.

              Oh, it was nice and shiny all right, but underneath that glistening surface you could see every lump and bump, every nook and cranny, every place where anything underneath was not absolutely perfect.  Kind of reminded me of the last time I tried on a dress a size too small.

              So now what?  Do I take this monstrosity to our potluck?  Well, it was a tiny little potluck made up of one of my classes and their families and they always count on me for an entrée and a dessert.  I had no time left to make another after having spent not only two hours on this ugly thing, but another one on the entrée and another couple studying.  And besides that, this thing was expensive.  I sure couldn't afford to throw it away.

              So the next afternoon I took my so-called torte and apologized for bringing the ugliest thing on God's creation to our lunch.  For some reason, it didn't stop them from eating it, and one even asked for the recipe.  "Sorry," I told her, "I threw it away."

              Well, guess what?  Every one of us is an ugly cake.  God took beautiful ingredients and made us "in His own image," but for some reason we all eventually turned out just plain ugly.

              We have all sunk into the morass of sin and crumbled beneath its weight.  Even when we proclaim our commitment we often manage to stick to things we should have let go of.  We fall to pieces in trials and temptations instead of standing strong.  It took Him a few thousand years of piecing things together, fixing the things we made even more messes of, and spending the most awful cost to do it, but He made us into a cake that tastes pretty good when we follow His directions.  Oh, the lumps and bumps may still show through occasionally.  Our imperfections may leave scars that simply cannot be hidden, but He is ultimately satisfied when we forget about trying to fix things ourselves and just do it His way, not worrying what others might think about how we look.  He won't give up and throw us away, but will take us to the Feast he has prepared, and will not be ashamed of what an ugly cake we were to begin with.  After all, ganache—in this case, grace—can fix anything.
 
Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Rev 3:20)
 
Dene Ward

Our piece of property was once a watermelon field on the back side of a family farm, approached by a dirt lane a half mile long.  When we first saw it, the ground was furrowed under the waist high grass and weeds, and a pushed up wind row ran down the length of it parallel to the north property line.  A few volunteer vines wound their way through the weeds, laden with green-striped melons, most of them too small to even consider picking.  What the land had once been was obvious.

              It had served other purposes as well.  After we moved onto the property, the power company sent a crew to plant the poles and string the wires that would connect us to the outside world.  One of the young men looked around and said, “I know this place.  I went to school with one of the boys and we’d come back here to hunt rat----.”  Instantly he stopped and muttered, “Well—you don’t need to know that.”  But within a week we knew exactly what he had started to say as the evidence began to pile up.  That first summer we killed four rattlesnakes, the smallest of which was four feet long, two cottonmouths, and several coral snakes.

              The snake population has dwindled after all these years, and the only volunteer melons come up in the garden now.  But there is still more evidence of the property’s past. 

              When we moved here, our closest neighbor advised us to have the wind row scraped into a raised road so we would always have access, even in wet weather, very good advice as it turned out.  What the tractor left behind was a high, compact, dirt driveway, but it was littered with broken glass.  Someone had tossed quite a few beer bottles into the wind row--those boys were obviously doing more than hunting rattlesnakes on the back forty all those years ago.  That first summer we gave our boys, who were then 6 and 8, a nickel for every piece of glass they picked up, and it was soon safe to drive and walk on.

              Yet now, over thirty years later, as I walk down the drive with the morning sun shining on the sandy road, I still see it glinting off tiny pieces of glass.  The sand they have been buried in has worn off their sharp edges making them far too smooth to endanger either tires or bare feet.  I usually pick up a couple dozen every summer.  Then the next year, yet more will have worked their way to the top from the simple erosion of wind and rain.

              What is hidden beneath will always come out.  No matter how hard you try to hide the ugliness, something will always give it away.  “By their fruits you shall know them,” Jesus said, and, “Out of the heart the mouth speaks,” Matt 7:20; Luke 6:45.  When we try to hide our character flaws from others, the only person we really manage to hide them from is ourselves.

              God will help you overcome the weaknesses that beset you, but he cannot do it until you admit them to yourself, and then to Him.  Blaming others, blaming circumstances, blaming “the way I am” will never fix things, any more than me blaming those teenage boys for throwing their beer bottles got rid of the glass in my driveway.  But God can help you mend your heart and correct your ways.  He promises He will always supply a way of escape and strength to endure the times of stress and the simple erosion of life that make those ugly things rise to the surface.

              Every year I see those sparkly pieces of glass in the driveway, but their edges have worn smooth and they are no longer a danger.  God can help the same way.  You may feel something inside begin to rise to the surface, but with His help you can keep it under control so that it no longer hurts you or others.  In your surrender to Him, the strength you have will multiply beyond anything you have ever experienced, or could ever have imagined.
 
Little children, you are from God and have overcome them, for he who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.  I John 4:4.
 
Dene Ward

It was an accident that I saw it.  A bluebird landed on the birdbath and I thought it a little drab, so I looked it up in the bird book and there it was, the bird yes, but also this sentence:  "Like the blue jay, the bluebird isn't really blue."

              I looked again.  Sure looked blue to me.  In fact, the photographer had taken a pretty good picture of it in my book and it was blue there, too.  So what's up with this, I wondered?

              "Feather colors are determined either by pigments, called pigmented colors, or by light refraction called structural colors. Feathers contain two types of pigments. The melanins are sharply outlined, microscopic particles we see as black, dull yellow, red and brown. The lipochrome pigments are diffused in fat droplets and produce brighter yellows, reds and oranges…When sunlight strikes a bluejay feather, the beam passes through the barb's transparent outer layer to the air-filled cavities that scatter the blue light and absorb the longer red wavelengths. Any transmitted light that remains after passing through the box cells is completely absorbed by the melanin. The blue we perceive is actually enhanced in intensity by the underlying melanin-rich black layer."  (Anita Carpenter, Wisconsin Natural Resources Magazine, February 2003.)  Turns out, according to Ms. Carpenter, that blue jays and bluebirds are actually black.

              So, it's a trick of the light, basically, and she also says that the angle from which you look can actually change the blue you see a little bit.  But if you are familiar with the gospels the business about light shouldn't surprise you.

              There are a lot of black-hearted folks out there who do their best to look blue.  Just like the woman in Proverbs 7, they change the word and that keeps it from being sin, they think.  "Let us take our fill of love," she says, when what it is, is "adultery."  In fact, "Making love" in our society can be anything from pure married love to fornication, incest, and homosexuality.  What makes it which?  The light of the Word, that's what.

              ​And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. ​For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. (John 3:19-20)

            Think about it.  When do most crimes occur?  At night.  What is one thing a lot of people do to deter it?  Leave lights on. 

            The gospel is God's power to salvation, but only for those who will come to its light and repent of their deeds of darkness.  It is no wonder that the Bible is no longer revered in some circles, that it is considered a book of myths, that it is in fact, a book of "Abominable Verses"  (look it up online if you want to see ignorance and lack of context to the nth degree). 
​
            But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.” (John 3:21)  When we are doing right, we don't mind the light.  We know that we will be justified in our works by the Truth of God's Word.  We will in due time become the "light of the world" ourselves when we live by it and the Light personified.

            The light will make our feathers blue, and the black underneath will no longer exist.  It will be washed clean and white.
 
For so the Lord has commanded us, saying, “‘I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.’” (Acts 13:47)
 

The older I get, the more I appreciate the quiet men in the pews, the ones who seldom speak up, whose opinions are usually kept to themselves or to just the one or two who make it a point to speak with them more than the customary, “How are you today?”

             We, who suppose that we “judge righteous judgment,” are, like the Pharisees, just as bad as anyone else about the things we claim to detest, in this case, judging.  If a brother seldom speaks in Bible class, he didn’t study his lesson, right?  Or his heart isn’t in his worship.  If I stop at another congregation when I am out of town and the singing isn’t loud, and the prayers have a lot of common phrases in them, and the preaching isn’t dynamic, then they are the worst excuse for a church I’ve ever seen.  So much for “righteous judgment.”

              The more I study the scriptures, the more I see quiet people living lives that would be considered normal in their day and time.  I don’t mean they would not have been different in their words and actions than the godless pagan they might live next to—I mean great deeds and feats of faith and bravery were not their claim to fame.  They simply lived to and with their God every day, making choices based upon their belief in Him, talking about His promises in casual conversation, assuming as a given that their hope was not baseless.

              When was the last time any one of us had to choose between death and serving God?  I know some places where that may be the case, but no one in this country has faced that trial, and I am the first to thank God for that and pray that it continue.  Does that make me a sorry excuse for a Christian?  Maybe that’s why so many think they must raise a ruckus about everything—they have to show their “faith” in some sort of blatant manner, instead of being satisfied—and grateful—that they can live a life of steady devotion day after day after routine day.  Sometimes that quiet steadiness takes a lot more strength, and certainly more endurance, than one quick flash in the pan act of courage.

            So here’s to the ordinary Christian.  He loves his wife “as his own body,” serves her faithfully, even when the years have diminished her outward beauty and increased her outward girth. 

              He trains his children, not just about God, but about being a man.  He teaches them how to work, how to play, and how to survive in an unfriendly world.  He shows them patience and mercy, the traits His Heavenly Father showed him.

              He works for his employer “as unto the Lord,” giving the boss no need to worry about his stealing either the business’s supplies or time--a day’s work for a day’s pay, and the willingness to throw in some unremunerated extra time and effort simply because it’s needed.

              He sees to the good of his neighbors, offering a helping hand, the loan of equipment, the gift of sharing good things that have come his way.  He shows them the Lord he serves in the way he treats them.

              He handles the trials of life, not as if they make him special and deserving, but as if they happen to all, knowing he deserves even worse for his part in the sin that contaminated the world.  He never allows them to affect his faith in God or his desire to serve that God.  He simply keeps on going, like that famous bunny.

              And so he may not talk a lot.  He may not jump up and down and raise his hands high in the air.  He may not be caught shedding a tear during a song or a prayer.  But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t mean every word of what he sings or prays, or have deep feelings of love and gratitude, and shame on anyone who judges otherwise.  Jacob worshipped, leaning on his staff, we are told in Heb 11:21.  What?  No hallelujahs?  I wonder how some today might have judged that.

              In fact, a whole church full of such men might not rise to the ideal for some who need outward show to “get anything out of” the worship.  What makes them think they are better than another who can motivate himself with his own quiet, inward thoughts?  Isn’t it a good thing, that Someone Else is doing the judging? 

              As to that “ordinary Christian,” he isn’t really very ordinary at all.
 
…for man looks on the outward appearance, but Jehovah looks on the heart,
1 Sam 16:7.
 
Dene Ward
 

"[Just as the Israelites did during the period of the Judges] evidence of the Canaanization of the church are everywhere:  our preoccupation with material property, which turns Christianity into a fertility religion (fertility religions are concerned to secure for the worshiper a large family, large flocks and herds, and abundant crops, the ancient equivalent to the modern health and wealth gospel); our syncretistic and aberrant forms of worship; our refusal to obey the Lord's call to separation from the world; our divisiveness and competitiveness; our moral compromises, as a result of which Christians and non-Christians are often indistinguishable; our [male] exploitation of women and children; our reluctance to answer the Lord's call to service, and when we finally go, our tendency to displace "Thy kingdom come" with "My kingdom come"; our eagerness to fight the Lord's battles with the world's resources and strategies; our willingness to stand up and defend perpetrators of evil instead of justice."  (Daniel J. Block, The New American Commentary, Judges and Ruth) 

Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.” (John 18:36)

Margaret Gorman was crowned "The Most Beautiful Bathing Girl in America" on September 8, 1921 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in what would later become the Miss America Pageant.  The first pageant was solely an attempt to increase tourist business in the Atlantic City boardwalk area after Labor Day.  The first pageant involved just a few contestants from several cities.  In fact, it was billed as an "Inter-City Competition."  Despite the best efforts of pageant organizers, the event developed a reputation for being a little risqué.  Through the years, many church groups protested outside the event, right next to feminists of their era.  Then there was the year the movies became involved as did outright nudity.  That was stifled quickly. Still, the women all had to compete in the bathing suit competition and I remember my daddy fussing about that.  It wasn't "decent," he said, to parade young women about in such scanty attire for all the world to see.  But despite all the attempts to make the competition about the scholarship and the community service, everyone knows it's about how pretty you are.  "She's a real Miss America," people say, and they aren't talking about her good works.  And too many times we spend far more money and time on how we look than on how we act and what we do for others.
 
               And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: ​There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” --- And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable. And he said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?”  (Mark 7:14-19)

              You would think that a generation that is so big on “the heart” and emotions and how worship “makes me feel” would have little trouble understanding that true beauty and goodness have absolutely nothing to do with what you eat.  But more and more I see young Christian women obsessed by their diets and exercise programs.  Understand, I have nothing against diets and exercise.  When the time comes to lose a few pounds I will willingly push away the food as easily as the most conscientious dieter out there.  I used to jog 5 miles 6 days a week—until my feet gave out on me, and now my eyes.  So I hop on the elliptical machine 4 or 5 times a week for 45 minutes at a whack.

              But I will never stand in front of a mirror and tell myself that I am not beautiful today because I ate a doughnut for breakfast, particularly if it’s the first one in 6 weeks.  Jesus very plainly tells us in the above passage that we are defiled by sin, not by what we eat. 

              In fact, when my diet and exercise regimen keep me from practicing hospitality or fellowshipping with my brethren at a potluck, maybe my diet and exercise program have defiled my heart instead, making me ugly before God.  I hope that everyone has the sense to know that I am not talking about celiac disease or IBS or deadly peanut allergies.  I am talking about fads that mean far more to us than our discipleship seems to, taking up more time researching them than studying the Word, obsessions that make us anxious about the wrong things and keep us from practicing the right ones.

              And this is not meant to give you license to become a glutton.  It does however give you Biblical authority to graciously receive a meal offered you by another brother and sister who have worked all day to prepare for you the best they have.  It allows you to accept gratefully that piece of warm banana bread from the elderly widow you stopped by to see, who went to that trouble because she so seldom has visitors and who will be hurt if you refuse.  It permits you to go to lunch with that group of sisters after an hour or two of intense Bible study, to cement your relationships with one another around a shared table.  If your regimen does not allow for these things, you need to consider again what Jesus said as well as the many scriptures commanding us to offer hospitality to one another, and the examples of Christians meeting house to house to “break bread” together on an almost daily basis.
 
             Doing these things makes us beautiful in the eyes of God.  It has nothing to do with a svelte, sexy figure and everything to do with service, gratitude, and graciousness.  Don’t judge yourself ugly because you ate a doughnut today.  We are made in the image of God, and when you have your priorities straight, those who are His children will not see you as anything but beautiful.
 
Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious. 1Pet 3:3-4
 
Dene Ward

I hardly ever go to the mall.  Because our finances have always been tight, I only shop for things when I need them, otherwise it seems to me an exercise in futility.  I can’t afford to get “tired” of something.  If it works, we use it.  If it hasn’t fallen apart yet, we wear it.  Yet sometimes I have to make that trip, usually once a year, twice at the most.  The first time I made it with a toddler and a babe in arms was almost disastrous. 

             Both my boys were obedient little boys.  Not that they came that way—it took a lot of effort and consistent training because they both had Ward blood in them, but eventually I never had to worry about taking them anywhere.  Two year old Lucas followed along as I traipsed from store to store looking for—well, I don’t even remember now.  I had Nathan in one arm, a diaper bag on the other, and my purse over one shoulder, so there was no hand to hold on to Lucas.  He was usually right by my side, and if he suddenly disappeared, I looked back and he had just lagged a bit as we went by a particularly eye-catching display.

              Then, just as we left one of the anchor stores on the far side of the mall, and stepped into the open area, I looked down and he wasn’t there, nor anywhere close.  My heart plummeted, my stomach heaved, and my mind screamed his name before I could even get it out of my mouth.  I ran back into that store, and there ten feet inside, he was standing by a display.  What had caught his interest I don’t know--I doubt I ever knew.  I called his name and he looked at me and smiled and came running.  Me?  I knelt on the floor and somehow with a squirmy four month old and a diaper bag and a purse, I managed to wrap him up in my arms and hug him so tightly that he started to pull away.

              “You need to be careful to stay with Mommy, okay?” I managed with a slight catch in my throat, and he nodded happily.  On we went to do the necessary shopping, but my eye was on him far better than it had been before.

              I doubt very many of you have not had something similar happen to you.  It is, perhaps, the worst feeling in the world to think your child might be lost.

              It amazes me when people do not have that same horrible feeling when their child’s soul is lost.  How can you not run around calling his name and asking people for help?  How can you not agonize about it?  I want to share with you two wonderful examples should you ever need them—which I pray neither you nor I ever do. 

              We have spoken with the lost child of a close friend more than once, offered to study the Bible, and just conversed about life in general at other times.  She appreciates everything we try to do for her child, whether it works or not.  She has even told her child, when that child was mildly disgruntled about one conversation, “Isn’t it wonderful that they care so much?” which effectively put that problem to rest. 

              I keep in contact with the child of another friend.  That child is not amenable to spiritual discussions these days, but he knows I will say something every time anyway, and probably because of his good parents, he accepts my overtures in a friendly way, tolerant when I leave him with a statement like, “You know what you need to do.”  She has told me she doesn’t care what I say to her child, “Just please keep saying something.”

              Neither one of these parents allow their children to complain in their presence about the ways we approach them.  Neither one of them blames us nor anyone else for the decisions their adult children have made, and their children know that too.  I carry great hopes for both of those children, and for those grieving parents.  I feel like their lost children will indeed be “found” some day, partly because of the attitude their parents have managed to keep throughout the whole ordeal. 

              If you have a lost child, follow their example.  As long as you allow that child to blame someone besides himself, he will never see the need for repentance.  As long as you allow her to make excuses, whether justified or not, she will think everyone else is at fault, not her. 

              When I lost Lucas for those few minutes, I didn’t care who helped find him, or what I looked or sounded like as I went running and hollering back into that store.  I just wanted my baby safe and sound.  Can you imagine someone saying, “No!  I don’t want you to look for my child?” 

              Your child may be standing right in front of you, but if his soul is lost, he might as well be a helpless toddler lost at the mall.  Do what you need to do, and accept the help of others without hamstringing them. I lost my little boy once.  I don’t want to ever go through that again, but if I do, rest assured, I will be calling you for help to find him, and I won’t care a bit how you go about it.
 
But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to celebrate, Luke 15:22-24.
 
Dene Ward

We swapped computers in 2015.  The new one was supposed to be so much better for someone like me, someone whose vision is becoming more and more limited.  Why, it has no wires!  You could pick it up and carry it around with you and no, it was not a laptop.  It was one of those new “all-in-ones.”  Part laptop, part tablet, but with a screen the size of a large desktop.  You didn’t even need a mouse and keyboard.  Rrrrright.  In my viewpoint it will take them a few more years to make this no-mouse-no-keyboard thing work smoothly enough that you don’t find yourself wanting to throw the whole thing through the window at least once a day.

            But it would have been a much easier transition if it hadn’t been a Lenovo.  Does that ring a few bells with the techie crowd?  In 2014, Lenovo began building a third party adware program called "Superfish" into its consumer PCs.  If you have read anything about it, you already know where this is going.  There was so much adware embedded in this thing we couldn’t even read a line of text without pop-ups flooding the screen.  If the cursor ran across a magic word, another would instantly appear.  And the thing kept track of every website you visited, producing even more ads.  Sometimes they popped up so quickly that when you were trying to click on something on the legitimate page, you wound up clicking on an ad instead.  We couldn’t even load our desired programs for all the pop-ups.  But this wasn't the worst of the problem.  This adware made it much easier for hackers to break through HTTPS entirely, and such an attack occurred shortly after the program became public.

              As far as I know, we were never hacked, but this stuff was so deeply embedded that it took at least three trips to the Geek Squad to get it out.  And after every scrub, we had to spend time loading the programs we wanted yet again.  The first four months we were actually able to use the computer about 4 weeks.  Finally on September 5, 2017, Lenovo settled the lawsuit brought by the Federal Trade Commission agreeing to procure affirmative consent for any future adware programs and to have audited security checks for the next 20 years.  They also agreed to pay $3.5 million as part of a state level settlement.

              Satan embeds his adware into our culture the same way.  When you can’t even watch a hamburger commercial without “soft” porn invading your living room, when the teasers for the shows you avoid include language your mama would have washed your mouth out with soap for using, and when we are constantly told that we aren’t hip, cool, smart, happy, or the most interesting people in the world without beer, hard liquor, cigarettes, or dancing the night away in skimpy clothes on a rooftop somewhere exciting where whatever you do stays, then you need to watch out for your souls more than ever before.

              The world will laugh at you if you mention Satan.  He isn’t real, we are told.  Only the ignorant believe in a mythological character like that.  If you are a Christian, you must believe in Satan.  If you don’t accept that part of the Bible, why would you accept any other part?

             Growing up I thought the only New Testament verses that mentioned Satan were the ones around Jesus’ temptation and the good old roaring lion in Peter.  Imagine my surprise when I looked it up.  I counted 19 outside the gospels, less one for the Peter passage we all know, for a total of 18 others.  Then there were the ones who called him something else like “the god of this age,” and “the Devil.”  And many of them talk about his “adware.”  Check a few of these out.
 
             2 Cor 2:11 mentions the “devices” of the devil.  Eph 6:11 speaks of his “schemes.”  2 Cor 4:4 tells us he “blinds the minds.”  2 Cor 11:14 tells us he “disguises” himself.  All I have to do is look around and see those devices and schemes every day, not just on television but in the speech and behavior of people who have already been taken in.  Have you ever seen the original “Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”  Some days I feel exactly like Kevin McCarthy, looking over my shoulder to see where the pods are, and wondering which of my neighbors have been replaced.

              One of Satan’s devices are his ministers.  The New Testament warns again and again of false teachers, false messiahs, false prophets, and false apostles.   They fashion themselves as “ministers of righteousness” (2 Cor 11:15).  Not only do they appear to be doing good, they even look good.  False teachers on the whole are good-looking and charismatic.  A lot of what they say sounds good and is, in fact, good.  But 90% of rat poison is good too.  It only takes the 10% to kill the rats.  When you keep finding the good in a man you know is teaching error, maybe Satan’s adware has taken hold of your heart already.

              Our culture has become embedded with evil masquerading as good.  We had to have our computer “scrubbed to the bones” to get rid of the adware.  Maybe it’s time we all used a spiritual scrub brush on ourselves before we are taken in too.
 
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 Pet 2:1-3.
 
Dene Ward

Along time ago we lived near a man who raised a little livestock.  He had a sow down the fence line from us, and one summer morning we woke to find piglets rooting their way through our yard, trying to find mama. Mama was too big to get under the pen, but the babies weren’t.  After that we kept tabs on those piglets, and the boys, who were about 6 and 4, loved going to see them.  Baby animals, as a general rule, are cute—even pigs.
 
             One evening I stuck my head out the door and hollered extra loudly, “Dinner!” because I knew that’s where they were.  Keith said they started back immediately, Nathan on his shoulders, and Lucas walking along side.  About halfway back he swapped boys, and told Nathan to run on ahead and wash his hands. As he watched, Nathan ran along the sandy path toward our driveway, then veered to the left instead of to the right toward the house.  Immediately his father yelled, ‘What did I tell you to do?!” and Nathan instantly changed his direction and ran for the house without even a backward look.

              As he approached the deep shade of the drive himself, Keith felt an inch tall.  Nathan’s tricycle was off to the left, parked in the hedgerow by our chicken pen.  That’s what he had been headed for because his father had taught him to always put up his tricycle.

              He put Lucas down on the ground and sent him on into the house as he went for the tricycle himself, to put it up for his younger son, who had only been trying to obey his father in all things.  Just as he got there, a gray-green cottonmouth as thick as a bike tire tube charged from the bushes.  Keith was able to grab a shovel in time and kill it. 

              Imagine if he had been a four year old.  Would he have seen the snake in time?  Would he have even known to be on the look out as one should here in the north Florida piney woods?  Cottonmouths are not shy—not only will they charge, they will change direction and come after you.  A snake that size could easily have struck above Nathan’s waist, and at only forty pounds he was probably dead on his feet.

              Now let me ask you this—does your child obey you instantly?  Or do you have to argue, threaten, bribe, or cajole him into doing what you tell him to do?  Do you think it doesn’t matter?  The world is filled with dangerous things, even if you don’t live where I do—traffic, electricity, deep water, high drop offs—predators.  If you don’t teach him instant obedience, you could be responsible for his injury or death some day--you, because you didn’t teach him to obey.  Because you thought it wasn’t that important.  Because you thought it would make him hate you.  Because you thought it made you sound mean.  Or dozens of other excuses.

              We put our boys in child car seats before it was required by law.  We actually had other people ask us, “How do you get him to sit in the seat?”  Excuse me? Isn’t it funny that when the law started requiring it, those parents figured it out?  Not getting in trouble with the law was evidently more important to them than the welfare of their children.

              The hedgerows don’t go away when your child grows up.  In fact, they become even more dangerous if you haven’t taught him as you should have.  Isn’t it sad when the elders of the church have to nag people to get them to do one simple thing for the betterment of the church or the visitors whose souls they are supposed to care about, like sitting somewhere besides the two back pews?  Those are probably the same people who as children had to be begged to obey their parents. 

              Do you want to know what someone was like as a child?  I can show you the ones who threw tantrums; they’re the ones who threaten to leave if things aren’t done their way.  I can point out the ones who wouldn’t share their toys; they won’t give up anything now either, especially not their “rights.”  The snake in the hedgerow has bitten them, and this time it poisoned their souls, not their bodies.

              Look around you Sunday morning.  Decide which of those adults you want your children to be like when they grow up.  It doesn’t happen automatically.  It happens when loving parents work hard, sometimes enduring a whole lot of unpleasantness and even criticism, to mold their children into disciples of the Lord.

              Danger hides in the hedgerows.  Make sure your child’s soul stays safe.
 
Now Adonijah [David’s son and] the son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, "I will be king." And he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him. His father had never at any time displeased him by asking, "Why have you done thus and so?" 1 Kings 1:5-6.
On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. And I declare to him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them, 1 Samuel 3:12-13.
 
Dene Ward

The Great Fire of London began on the morning of September 2, 1666 in the home of King Charles II's baker.  By September 6, when the fire was finally put out, 80% of London had been destroyed.  You can read a lot about that fire on history sites, but I want to focus on this today:  In that fire they used something called a "squirt," a device similar to a bicycle pump that was first used on fires in the Middle Ages.  A nozzle was placed in a container of water and a plunger pulled to suck water up into the "well" of the squirt.  It was then directed toward the fire and sprayed out.  Sort of slow going for a real fire, don't you think?  Imagine if the king's baker had had a modern fire extinguisher in his home.  London might have been saved.

             We have two fire extinguishers in the house, one behind the woodstove at the edge of the kitchen and one in a back bedroom.  They have been there so long that I don’t even notice them any more.  In fact, when I think to look at them at all, it’s to dust them because “suddenly” they look like they have grown white fur.

              Fire extinguishers are great to have around, but let’s face it, they aren’t part of a beautiful decor.  They aren’t a handy item we use everyday like a coffee pot or a can opener.  They aren’t even a once a year need like my pressure canner—at least we hope not.  The only reason we have them is “just in case,” and we want that “just in case” to never happen.  We treat fire extinguishers more like necessary evils than anything else.

              I noticed something when we studied Psalm 99 in Bible class the other day.  [Speaking of Moses, Aaron, and Samuel] In the pillar of the cloud [God] spoke to them; they kept his testimonies and the statute that he gave them. O LORD our God, you answered them; you were a forgiving God to them, but an avenger of their wrongdoings, vv 7-8.

              Those two verses contain everything we need to know about who can pray to God and expect an answer.  First God spoke to them.  They listened by keeping His testimonies and statutes.  Then God answered them.

              Those three righteous men did not treat God like a fire extinguisher.  He wasn’t there just for emergencies.  He was part of their lives on a daily basis as they followed His laws and prayed for help and forgiveness.

              The psalmist is careful to point out that these men were among those “who call upon His name” (v 6).   They were not the only ones chosen to receive this blessing.  Many others “called upon His name.”  That goes for us as well.  We possess His testimonies and statutes in the written form.  All we have to do is keep them, making God a daily part of our lives, and He will hear us just like He heard them.

              The problem comes when we try to make a relationship out of one phone call, so to speak.  If we never talk to God otherwise, or more to the point, listen, He won’t listen either.  If we ignore His law with impunity, going our own headstrong way, He won’t answer—not according to Psalm 99, and several other passages (Prov 15:29; 28:9; Isa 59:2; John 9:31, etc).  We’ve seen too many heart-tugging made-for-TV movies where the old reprobate turns around at a crisis and promises God he will be good if God will just hear him this once.  God does not bargain, unless you think you are a man of the stature of Abraham, who talked with God regularly instead of treating Him like a fire extinguisher.  More often than not, old reprobates stay that way.

              Now is the time to begin that relationship, or deepen it if you already have.  If we keep God behind the woodstove until He grows some dusty fur, we needn’t think He will pay a bit of attention when we holler.
 
As I called, and they would not hear, so they called, and I would not hear, says the LORD of hosts, Zech 7:13.

Dene Ward