The past few years big black gnats have reached almost plague proportions.  Generally they begin about May and before we know it we are swatting in the kitchen, under the lamps, and especially at the table.  You look down and if you aren't quick enough, the one that lands in your soup drowns in it.  If you talk too much, you swallow one, and you never, ever leave a piece of pie sitting out for longer than five seconds without covering it up.  They breed in the garbage can, in the bathroom drains, and in the burn box.  Every fruit fly trap holds forty bodies in one day's time, and still you swat.

              So we replaced our defunct atomizer, the one that puffs out a spray of insecticide every 15 minutes from its place high on the book case—and noticed no difference whatsoever.  Until we went south to babysit for three days.  When we arrived back home, we trudged in, bodies weary from child love and heavy traffic, and came to a complete halt.  The floor was covered in dead gnats.  You couldn't walk through them without smashing them and tracking them everywhere.  A broom and a dustpan garnered us a half cup of dead gnats.  Now that is a load of bugs!

              You can think you don't make a difference in this world.  Your kind deeds to your neighbors, your level of patience in restaurants and doctors' offices and on the road, your invitations to worship or Bible study, your words of encouragement to a brother or sister in distress seem small and insignificant.  But they are not.  They add up and they will have an effect. 

              You may never know about it.  I meet people all the time who, when discovering who my parents are, suddenly pour out their appreciation for things that I never knew about.  I hear about their love, their generosity, their encouragement, their examples.  I hear praise and gratitude for people I never really thought of as great heroes of faith, and why?  Because I was watching them one puff at a time.  I never saw the floor full of gnats that accrued after a lifetime of righteousness.

              The same thing can be true of you.  You may not be able to teach a Bible class that converts a dozen sinners in a month, much less a day.  You may not have the time and money to give much more than a couple hours a week to serving, and that scattered about among a large bunch of needy folks.  But you can puff out a kind word here and there, a card of encouragement every week or so, a visit or two every week, a meal for a sick family when needed, and a consistent example of faithfulness in your meetings with the assembly and your daily example of life. 

              So a half a cup of dead gnats is not exactly the metaphor you want to be remembered by, but consider this.  Every dead gnat is a defeat for Satan; a bout with selfishness or an impatient lack of consideration or the distraction with the world that you have overcome by your faithfully pursuing righteousness in your life, one word or deed at a time, again and again and again.  Satan tries to tell you that it won't matter, it's all too small to make a difference.  Show him your dustpan and gloat in his face.

              One puff at a time will get you, and maybe a few others with you, to Heaven.
 
The saying is trustworthy, and I want you to insist on these things, so that those who have believed in God may be careful to devote themselves to good works. These things are excellent and profitable for people. Titus 3:8
 
Dene Ward
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Satan is the one who puts out those ads for sin’s magic pills.  Don’t be a “patsy.”  No one is sure where the term came from.  Some suggest it is from the Italian word pazzo.  Do you know what that word means?  “Fool.”  Sounds to me like the perfect word. 
 
For godly sorrow works repentance unto salvation, a repentance which brings no regret: but the sorrow of the world works death. For behold, this selfsame thing, that you were made sorry after a godly sort, what earnest care it wrought in you, yea what clearing of yourselves, yea what indignation, yea what fear, yea what longing, yea what zeal, yea what avenging! In everything you approved yourselves to be pure in the matter. 2 Corinthians 7:10-11.
 
Dene Ward      

Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.

One of my favorite stories in Genesis is one of the least well known.  I learned the extent of this story from reading my brother’s book The Growth of the Seed: Notes on the Book of Genesis.  When most people turn to the end of Genesis, they think of the story of Joseph, but I think of the story of Judah.

When we first meet Judah, he isn’t exactly a nice man.  We all know that the 10 older sons of Jacob hated Joseph.  He was clearly their dad’s favorite and he didn’t shy away from telling the dreams which seemed to predict his preeminence over the family.  One day the older brothers caught Joseph alone and planned to kill him.  In Gen. 37:26-27 Judah offers another idea: sell Joseph into slavery.  His motive wasn’t saving the life of his younger brother; it was greed.  Some have tried to justify Judah in this, but think of all the news stories recently about human trafficking.  There was nothing merciful in Judah here.  He might well have been sending Joseph to an early grave as a slave, but at least it lined his pocket!  And so Joseph is sold.

In Genesis 38 Judah has left the family of God.  Surely Judah knew of the promises God had made to his great-grandfather.  He knew his family was the family of promise and that the blessing of God was passed down through his family, yet he chose to leave and go his own way.  His absence wasn’t short either.  He married, had three sons, raised them, and arranged a marriage for his oldest.  So, he was gone for nearly 20 years at that point.  Judah’s character shows again when we see how wicked his sons were.  His oldest was so wicked God struck him dead.  The next son, who took the widow of his brother to raise up an heir in the dead brother’s name, enjoyed the benefits of that arrangement without accepting any of the responsibility so God struck him dead too.  One might strongly question the idea of Judah as a righteous father.  Judah held back his youngest son from his daughter-in-law (Tamar) on the pretext that he was too young and Tamar went to live with her parents.  Time went by, however, and the youngest son grew to an age to handle the responsibility but still Tamar was left alone.  She began plotting to get what was truly hers by the laws of that time and place.

Meanwhile, Judah’s wife dies.  After he finishes his period of mourning, he goes to the sheep shearing, an event with a festival atmosphere.  On the way, Judah saw what he thought was a temple prostitute and decided to engage her services.  So he is not only committing fornication, but is also participating in the worship of an idol. He leaves his signet ring, staff and the cord worn on his neck with the prostitute as a guarantee that he’d send payment back to her.  Turns out the prostitute was actually his daughter-in-law Tamar who was just taking from him what he should have given to her.  [A quick aside: whatever we think of Tamar’s tactics, God seems to have been ok with it. Not only is she not condemned anywhere in this story – and in fact, Judah will later say she was more righteous than he – but Tamar is one of only three women listed among Jesus’ ancestors in Matthew 1. That seems to be a pretty ringing endorsement.]  When it is discovered that Tamar is pregnant, Judah plans to execute her for her loose ways until she shows the ring, cord, and staff and lets it be known that Judah is the father.  His reaction -- “And Judah acknowledged them, and said, She is more righteous than I; forasmuch as I gave her not to Shelah my son.  And he knew her again no more” Gen. 38:26 -- seems to be one of true remorse and repentance because the next time we meet Judah he is back with the family of God.

Not only is Judah back with his family, he has gained status as the family's spokesperson.  When the seven years of famine came and the ten sons of Jacob went to Egypt to buy grain (because God had raised Joseph to second in the land after he interpreted Pharaoh’s dream and Joseph planned appropriately for the famine), they didn’t recognize Joseph and he treated them rather roughly.  He insisted that the next time they come they bring their youngest brother to “prove” that they aren’t spies. When they get home and tell Jacob of the demands of the Egyptian lord, he refuses to consider it. In 42:37-38 Reuben tries to convince Jacob saying that he will be responsible for Benjamin.   Jacob ignores Reuben.  Finally, when things get really bad, Judah offers to be responsible for Benjamin and Jacob relents (43:8-13).  Judah had obtained a respectability higher than his oldest brother.  When they get to Egypt, Joseph arranges things so he can accuse Benjamin of being a thief and keep his younger brother with him.  The other brothers, still not recognizing Joseph, believe a calamity has occurred. Judah gives a speech, part of which follows:

Gen 44:30-34 “Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad is not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life; it will come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die: and thy servants will bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to Sheol. For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then shall I bear the blame to my father forever. Now therefore, let thy servant, I pray thee, abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my father, if the lad be not with me? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father.”

When Judah sold Joseph into slavery he had no concern for the feelings of his father and stood by callously as Jacob wept over Joseph.  Now, he is so concerned for his father – and his brother – that he is willing to take the place of Benjamin.  He begs for the right to live as a slave so that his brother may go free. It is reminiscent of John 15:13.  While he wasn’t dying for Benjamin, he was giving up his life for him. This is a complete transformation from being a totally selfish man to being a man of love.  We see this complete transformation acknowledged by God when Jacob prophesies that the scepter will not depart from the house of Judah until Shiloh come (49:8-12).  The blessing that had passed from Abraham to Isaac to Jacob was now being passed to Judah.

That almost seems strange, doesn’t it?  Think of how wicked Judah had been in his early life.  He sold his brother to human traffickers and then lied to his dad saying Joseph was dead.  He left the family of God.  He raised two extraordinarily wicked sons.  He slept with a prostitute and likely worshiped an idol while he did so.  BUT he came back to the family of God.  He learned to love others and put them before himself.  He learned to be self-sacrificing.  It was for this repentance and faithful working in the family of God that he was blessed. Judah changed and God forgave.

It’s amazing how many of the great men of the Bible had huge failures.  Think about it: Abraham repeatedly lied (Gen. 12, 20).  Moses disobeyed and took the credit for a miracle (Num. 20:10-11).  David murdered and committed adultery (2 Sam. 11).  Peter denied the Lord (Matt. 26:69-75).  Paul persecuted the church (Acts 8:3, 22:4).  What all this means, what the story of Judah teaches, is that no matter how far you've fallen, you can still come back to the Lord.  No matter what you’ve done, God will forgive you and give you a place in His family.  If God will forgive Judah and allow the blessing of the coming Messiah to fall on him, then he will forgive us as well.  We can enjoy the blessings of the glorified Messiah.  All we have to do is repent and return to the family of God.

“The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some count slackness; but is longsuffering toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.” 2 Pet. 3:9.

Lucas Ward

Pearl Reid Skirvin was born on October 12, 1889.  The daughter of an Oklahoma City real estate tycoon, she never knew anything but high society.  She married George Mesta, a Pittsburgh machine tool magnate, and was widowed after only 8 years.  She never remarried, never had children, and became heir to both her father’s and husband’s fortunes.  Somewhere along the way she changed the spelling of her first name and became Perle Mesta, an influential hostess and political fundraiser in Washington DC.  And somewhere else along the way, she was labeled “the hostess with the mostes’.”  As a young child I had heard of her myself, but her glamorous parties were things far beyond my family’s imagination, much less actual attendance.

              I remember my first attempts to be a hostess.  I had watched my mother feed guests for 20 years.  She seemed to do it effortlessly, not that she didn’t work at it, but it never seemed to stress her out.  Me?  I was always worried that my recipes wouldn’t turn out, that I had chosen something no one liked, and that the house wasn’t clean enough. 

              For several years I kept a file with an index card for each family we had invited for a meal.  I listed the dates they came, what I had served, and at the top a list of things I knew were disliked.  Roger Pink hated liver, I remember—not that I would ever serve specially invited guests liver, but you can see how concerned I was with being a good hostess.  These days you get pot luck, and I don’t worry so much any more.

              Being a good host or hostess had almost sacred connotations in the scriptures.  Inns were few and far between.  Everyone depended upon the people they encountered in their travels to put them up, and those people knew they would someday have similar need, so they readily offered the hospitality.  You cannot read Genesis without seeing the importance of hospitality—a host laid down his life for his guests.

              So the metaphor in Proverbs 9 was an apt one for the times.  Two hostesses seeking guests, one named Wisdom and the other Folly.  A quick reading will only obscure some of the finer points.  This is too short a venue to touch them all, so sit down some time with a pen and paper and make two columns.  Go through the verses yourself and find the contrasts between the hostesses, their offers, and the guests who take advantage of the proffered hospitality.  Then figure out which side you are on. 

              But three quick points: Wisdom offers a great feast—“she has slaughtered her beasts; she has mixed her wine,” v 2.  Folly offers only bread and water, v 17, but notice how enticing she makes it sound:  Stolen water is sweet and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.  Not only is her meal scanty, it’s forbidden.  If the only reason I want to do something is because someone else told me not to, the proverb writer says I “lack sense,” v16, as do all of Folly’s guests.

              Wisdom offers her feast to all, but specifically to “those who lack understanding” and are wise enough to realize their need.  Folly offers hers to those who are “going straight on their way,” v 15.  They already think they know what they need to know.  They may indeed be simpleminded, v 16, but they don’t realize it.  Going to someone to ask for advice is beneath them, unless of course it’s someone who will tell them what they want to hear. 

              Wisdom tells her guests that they must break off from bad company, v 7-8.  Folly, on the other hand, loads her guest list with the worst company of all, and bids the fool to come join them, but he does not know that the dead are there, that her guests are in the depths of Sheol, v 18.

              You won’t find a more chilling metaphor, but if you insist on ignoring good advice, trusting in those who scorn the word of God, and whooping it up with the Devil, you will find yourself exactly where Folly holds her parties, consorting with the spiritually dead, and killing your own soul in the process.
 
Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evil people and impostors will go on from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived, 2 Timothy 3:12-13.
 
Dene Ward

Henry J Heinz was born on October 11, 1844 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  In 1850 the family moved to Sharpsburg, and before long, little Henry was showing his business acumen by selling vegetables from the family garden.  His customers included area grocers.
 
             As a teenager he began preparing and bottling horseradish.  But here again, his business sense helped him out.  He put his horseradish in clear bottles while every other producer used dark brown.  He wanted customers to see the quality of his product.  Before long he had branched out into pickles, vinegars and the like.

              In 1875, a national financial panic pushed him into bankruptcy.  But he was not about to give up.  Two of his cousins formed a new company, F and J Heinz, and they introduced ketchup to the product line in 1876.  By 1888, Henry had discharged his bankruptcy obligations and took charge of the company.  It was his again, and so was that famous ketchup.  It's the brand we use exclusively.

            At the end of every gardening year I always end up with extra plum tomatoes and nothing to do with them.  My pantry is full of canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, and even tomato jam.  So what else is there?  Now that I have a grandson who is a manic dipper of anything he can pick up in his chubby little fingers, I had a sudden epiphany.  “Ketchup!” I said to myself.  “Make the boy some ketchup.”
 
             So I found an easy recipe—not a quick one by any means, but once you get past the initial chopping and measuring stage, all you do is stir once in awhile for a couple of hours. 

              I did not want to put a lot of energy into something I had never tried, so I made a small batch.  I filled a five quart Dutch oven halfway with chopped plum tomatoes, onions and peppers, sugar, vinegar, and spices, and put them on to cook.  About two and a half hours later I poured up one generous cup of ketchup.  It was definitely the best ketchup I had ever tasted, and plenty for Keith and I who take a year to go through a 32 oz bottle, but it was not going to do for a ketchup fanatic, and it certainly wasn’t worth the work.  Now that I know the recipe is good, though, I will fill two of those pots to the brim and in about the same amount of time have something a little more worthwhile.

              And that is our problem when it comes to converting the world.  We only fill one pot half full and then wonder why we got such a small return.  Then we become discouraged, or worse, decide that God’s way doesn’t work any more and then we really get into trouble, going places and doing things we have no authority for, denigrating God in the process.

              We see the 3000 baptized on Pentecost and say, what’s wrong?  Why can’t we do that?  Let’s do a little math.  Most scholars estimate the population of Jerusalem during a feast day at 1 million or more.  Three thousand out of one million is not that much.  In fact, it’s the same as 300 out of 100,000, or 30 out of 10,000 or 3 out of 1000.  That’s less than one third of one percent, or, to be silly about it, it’s a short one-third of a person for every hundred. 

              Stop being so negative.  Stop allowing sheer numbers without perspective to discourage you.  This is a Biblical principle.  The road is narrow.  Only a few will find it.  We just have to make sure that their inability to find it wasn’t our fault.  And we have to remember above all, that it isn’t God’s fault either.  It is not the fault of His methods.  It is not the fault of His plan.   We certainly cannot improve on the ways of the Almighty.  What we can do is implement them.        

                Fill as many pots as you have with tomatoes.  If you want a 3000 day, then cook a million.  Most of us can’t do that, but we can cook a hundred in a lifetime surely.  And if all you get is one cup of ketchup, that’s wonderful.  In fact, it’s better than Pentecost.  You did not fail by any means.  You did your part, and, even better, you did it God’s way.
 
For seeing that in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom knew not God, it was God's good pleasure through the foolishness of the preaching to save them that believe. Seeing that Jews ask for signs, and Greeks seek after wisdom: but we preach Christ crucified, unto Jews a stumblingblock, and unto Gentiles foolishness; but unto them that are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men. 1 Corinthians 1:21-25
 
Dene Ward
 

Oh, so many years ago we moved up to the frozen tundra.  At least that’s what north central Illinois felt like to this Florida native.  Keith worked with a small church there and I experienced blizzards, snowmen, and sledding for the first time in my life.  I also experienced a grudge-holder to end all grudge-holders. 

              An older fellow, a corn and soybean farmer, invited us to visit and before we had time to warm the seats of the chairs in his white two story farmhouse, he proceeded to give us some “important information.”  Another family in the church, he proclaimed, was not the faithful, unselfish, godly family they claimed to be.  Then one by one he listed all the “wrongs” they had done him, most of which amounted to being more prosperous than he.  They surely must have sinned to get that way!

              Keith was older and more experienced than I.  He saw through the “helpful” manner this man had adopted, and before his list was complete, Keith had asked a few probing questions that left him flummoxed.  Somehow this was not going the way he expected it would.  When we left that day, he had not accomplished his mission at all, which is entirely as it should have been.  When someone comes running to pour garbage on you, step aside as quickly as possible.  The truth will out, and before long the fruits we saw in both families made apparent who was and was not “faithful.”

              If I had just finished the faith study I had written back then, it would have been obvious to even me.  After all that research, the huge lists of passages I had, and the categories I eventually sorted them into, I found several mentioning circumstances that require “extra” faith to handle.  One of them made me laugh out loud at first, then it made me sit back and say, “Well, of course.”

              In Luke 17, Peter, somewhat proudly, asked the Lord if forgiving someone seven times wasn’t a “gracious” plenty.  No, Jesus tells him.  Not seven times, but seventy times seven.  I am positive Peter got the point—there should be no end to forgiving others; there must be no “last straw”--because he immediately exclaimed, “Lord!  Increase our faith!”  He understood that a failure to forgive is a sign of weak faith.

              I have puzzled over how those two things are connected for quite awhile now.  Finally I see two possibilities. 

              First, God says He will avenge me; I don’t have to worry about doing it myself.  Not to believe that is to question the love and care God has for me, a love He demonstrated in no uncertain terms when He gave His only begotten Son.  Of course He will avenge me.  If I don’t believe that, I may as well not believe the incarnation of the Lord.

              And then this:  do I believe that God will forgive me an infinite number of times?  I am supposed to be His child, striving to become like Him.  If I can’t forgive, then maybe I don’t believe He forgives, and if He doesn’t forgive, then my whole belief system is flawed.  Why do I bother?

              Our American culture tends to laud as strong those who fight back, take revenge, and hold grudges.  “That’s going too far,” and, “I just won’t take that,” has been uttered in countless movies by “the strong, silent type.”  And what do we all do?  We applaud the man who finally refuses to turn the other cheek.  We admire the man who fights back.  We approve the man who chooses not to forget the sins against him—the one who says, “I’ll never be hurt again.” 

              What if God said those things about us?  Aren’t you shivering in your boots to realize where you would be if God hadn’t said instead, “Your sins I will remember no more,” and “Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow?”  Aren’t you thrilled beyond measure to read the inspired words of John, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness?” (Jer 31:34; Isa 1: 18; 1 John 1:9) 

              Do you ever find yourself wanting to tell everyone about the people you think have mistreated you?  You and that old Illinois farmer are standing in the same shoes.  Take off those shoes for you are standing on the Holy Ground of a God who loves and forgives to an infinite measure.  If you want to stand with Him, you must forgive in the same way.

              “Lord, increase our faith.”
 
Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." Romans 12:19.
 
Dene Ward      

When we describe our camping trips, people sigh and say things like, “That sounds heavenly.” 

             We cook over an open fire, the meat caramelized by the flames and flavored by the smoke.  At night we sit by a pile of crackling logs under a black sky of twinkling diamond stars and sip hot chocolate.  In the mornings we cuddle by a fire pulled together from the coals of the night before, and gaze on a view that ought to cost extra—mountain after mountain after green rolling mountain against a blue sky, or wrapped with frothy clouds like lacy boas, or peeking through a fine mist, or shining in the sun, covered with trees sporting all the fall colors along with a few dark evergreens.  We hike through wilderness forests unsullied by human rubbish, watching birds we seldom see flit from limb to limb, coons or deer or bears trundling off in the distance or standing stock still in shock staring at us, tiny rills splashing over rocks into larger brooks running to yet larger creeks and finally to the rivers in the valleys below.  We visit orchards and buy apples straight from the tree, not prettied up for the store, sporting a real blemish here and there, but full of flavor, juicy with a perfect texture.  That evening we peel and slice a skillet full, add butter, sugar and cinnamon, set them on a low flame on the propane camp stove and twenty minutes later eat the best dessert you ever had.

              Then we trot out the other side of camping to our friends:  a day long misty rain that, even inside the screen set up over the table, seeps into your clothes and leaves you shivering; carrying a loaded tote to the bathhouse a few hundred yards up or down a steep hill every time you want to brush your teeth or take a shower; stepping outside the tent in the morning to a thermometer that reads 27 degrees. 

              “I could never do that!” one says.  “I’d be headed for the first Holiday Inn!” another proclaims.  Unfortunately, you don’t get the good part without the bad part.  The good parts often happen after the day-trippers head for the hotel.  Their food doesn’t come close and they pay a whole lot more for it at a restaurant than we did at the grocery store the week before we left.  They see the view once, just for a few minutes before being jostled out of the way by the next person standing behind them at the overlook.  And most hotels would frown on a campfire in their rooms.

              Keith and I are snobs about our camping.  When we camp, we live outdoors.  We don’t hide when the weather turns cold, or even wet—we can’t in a tent.  So we just wrap up and tough it out.  Oh, so superior are we.  But we have our limits too.  You will never find us at a primitive campsite.  You certainly won’t find us at a pioneer campsite.  We want our water spigot and electricity.  How do you think we handle those nights in the 20s?  We handle them with a long outdoor extension cord snaking its way inside the tent zipper to an electric blanket stuffed in the double sleeping bag and a small $15 space heater that, amazingly, raises the tent temperature 20-30 degrees inside.

              So where am I when it comes to Christianity?  Am I sold on the health and wealth gospel?  As long as good things happen to me, I am perfectly willing to believe in God and be faithful to Him.  Do I recognize the need for a little bit of trouble to prove my faith, but NOT full scale persecution or trial?  Have I come through some tough tests and now think so well of myself that I can scream to God, “Enough!” as if I had the right to lay out the terms for my faithfulness?

              The rich young ruler thought he was pretty good.  He had kept the commandments.  But Jesus knew where this fellow drew the line—his wealth.  So that is precisely where Jesus led him. 

              Do we have a line we won’t cross?  Is it possessions, security, health, family stability, friendships, comfort?  Whatever it is, the Lord will make sure you come against that line some day in your life.  You may think you are fine—why I can stay in my tent when it’s 25 degrees out!  What if the thermometer hit zero?  What if it rained, not just one day, but every day?  What if I had no running water, no hot showers, no electric blanket?  Would I pack up and head for the hotel?  Or would I tough it out, knowing the reward was far greater than even the most torturous pain imaginable in this life?

              You can’t run to the hotel and hide when persecution strikes.  You can’t close the RV door and count on riding out the storms of life.  Sometimes God expects you to stay in the tent in the most primitive campsite available.  Sometimes he even takes away the tent.  But you will still have the best refuge anyone could hope for if you make use of it, and when the trial is over, you get to enjoy the good parts that everyone else missed.
 
And another also said, I will follow you, Lord; but first suffer me to bid farewell to them that are at my house. But Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God, Luke 9:61,62.
 
Dene  Ward

We heat with wood.  A thirty-six-year-old Ashley wood stove sits in the heart of our home—the kitchen and family room area.  Our boys grew up watching their father labor with a chainsaw, axe, and splitting maul, eventually helping him load the eighteen inch lengths of wood into the pickup bed and then onto the wood racks.  Every time a friend or neighbor lost a tree or several large limbs fell, the phone rang, and the three of them set off for a Saturday’s worth of work that kept us warm for a few days and the heating bill down where we could pay it.

            At first those small boys could only carry one log at a time, and a small one at that.  Wood is heavy if still unseasoned, and always rough and unwieldy.  By the time they were 10, an armful numbered two or three standard logs, even the lighter, seasoned ones.  They were 16 or older before they could come close to their father’s armload of over half a dozen logs, and grown men before they could match him log for log.  Even that is a small amount of wood.  In a damped woodstove, it might last half the night, but on an open fire barely an hour.

              So I laugh when I see pictures of an 8-10 year old Isaac carrying four or five “sticks” up Mt Moriah behind his father Abraham.  To carry the amount of wood necessary to burn a very wet animal sacrifice, Isaac had to have been grown, or nearly so, not less than 16 or 17, and probably older and more filled out.  In fact, in the very next chapter, Genesis 23, Isaac is 37 years old.  In chapter 21, his weaning, he is somewhere between 3 and 8, probably the older end, so all we can say for certain is he is between 3 and 37 at the time of his offering.  Our experience with wood carrying tells me that he was far older than most people envision.

              Do you realize what that means?  This may well have been a test of Abraham’s faith, but it also shows that Isaac’s faith was not far behind his father’s.  He could easily have over-powered his father, a man probably two decades north of 100, and gotten away.  He, too, trusted that God would provide, even as he lay himself down on that altar and watched his father raise his hand.

              How did he know?  Because he watched God provide everyday of his life.  He saw his father’s relationship with God, heard his prayers and watched his offerings, witnessed the decisions he made every day based solely on the belief in God’s promises, and his absolute obedience even when it hurt, like sending his brother Ishmael away (Gen 21:12-14). Isaac did not know a time when his family did not trust God, so he did too.  “God will provide” made perfect sense to him.

              When that young man carried that hefty load of wood up that mountain, he went with a purpose, based upon the example of his father’s faith and his Father’s faithfulness.  Would your children be willing to carry that wood?
 
The living, the living, he thanks you, as I do this day; the father makes known to the children your faithfulness. Isaiah 38:19
 
Dene Ward

Our bird watching has spilled over into our camping trips.  Somewhere along the way it dawned on us that we could see different birds in different areas of the country.  So we began carrying small bags of birdseed and scattering it around the campsites.  I saw my first savannah sparrow at Blackwater River, my first nuthatch at Cloudland Canyon, and on our latest trip, my first dark-eyed junco at Black Rock Mountain.

              That’s not all we saw.  We had laid the seed along the landscaping timbers that both defined the site and kept our little aerie from washing down the mountainside.  As long as we sat fairly still and talked quietly, the little gray birds with the white vests hopped closer and closer down the long chunk of weathered wood, pecking at the free and easy meal.  Suddenly a loud crunch behind us caused the birds to fly.  We turned and there sat a fat gray squirrel enjoying the free meal himself, and much more of it.

              “Shoo!” we yelled simultaneously.  He reached down and pawed another kernel.

              Keith hopped up and spun around his chair, clapping his hands with every “Git!” and every step.  Finally the squirrel hopped away, not nearly as scared as I wished.

              Since he was up anyway, Keith started the cook fire and I walked around the tent toward the back of the truck where we stowed our food supplies.  There on the other side of the tent sat the squirrel, once again noshing on the birdseed.

              “Scat!” I shouted, running right at him.  Again he turned and leisurely hopped away.

              After that we were up and around a bit and he kept his distance.  But soon Keith had stepped back into the woods to pick up some deadfall for a later fire in the evening while he waited for the flame to die down to coals, and I was in the screen tent setting the table and prepping the chops for grilling.  I looked up just in time to see that little marauder headed straight for the open screen door, gently waving in the breeze.  He had bypassed the birdseed and was aiming to score people food.

              Only my clumsiness and advancing years kept me from vaulting the table.  Instead, I ran around it, knocking both knees on the corner of the bench and nearly laming myself in the process, stomping, yelling, clapping, and every other noise I could manage.  For once he showed a little alarm and scooted through the brush surrounding us.

              Keith returned and we both bustled around the tents, the truck, and the fire, cooking and laying out the meal.  Half an hour later we sat down to inch thick, herb-rubbed, wood-grilled pork chops, Spanish rice, and skillet corn and red peppers.  Meanwhile, the squirrel sat down to more birdseed.  He crept up behind Keith, he crept up behind me.  He hopped along the timber behind the fire, then tried the one behind the tent.  Every time Keith jumped up and scared him off.

              After the sixth or seventh time that I touched Keith’s hand and pointed, he hung his head in defeat.  “Let him eat,” he said, ferociously stabbing a fork into his chop and sawing with far more exertion than necessary, “so I can.”

              That’s exactly the way Satan comes after us.  Do you need a Biblical example to believe this?  How about Potiphar’s wife (Genesis 39)?  She appealed to Joseph’s natural appetites first, by far the strongest appeal to a young man.  She made it look rewarding—she was the Master’s wife after all, imagine the extra privileges he might have received.  She spoke to Joseph “day by day,” a constant and growing pressure on him.  Even though he seems to have made it his business to avoid her, finally she managed to catch him alone—now it was even easier to give in.  And boy, did she make him pay when he didn’t.

              Satan is persistent.  He comes from every angle and tries every trick.   Sometimes he comes as often as every few minutes.  He will never give up.  Even just fighting him will cost you—time, comfort, convenience, security, wealth, friends, freedom, maybe even your life.  But if you give up, the cost is even worse.  If you say, “Let him eat,” he will—he will “devour” your eternal soul, every last bite.
 
Be sober, be watchful: your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, prowls about, seeking whom he may devour…Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Wherefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and, having done all, to stand…To that end keep alert with all perseverance…1 Peter 5:8; Ephesians 6:11-13, 18.
 
Dene Ward

I have a hard time seeing cobwebs.  Every so often, Keith will grab a broom, wrap an old rag around it and go around sweeping my ceilings, especially in the corners.  He always ends up with a rag covered in lacy, pale gray webs that had hung from the white ceilings, hidden from my less than perfect vision.

              A few weeks ago, after returning from a ten day trip that combined family visits with a speaking engagement, I was exercising on the porch steps and happened to look at the screen door.  Maybe because I was concentrating on my repetitious step routine instead of simply going in and out, I saw a thick layer of cobwebs wrapped around the automatic door closer.  I looked a little higher and more hung from the hinges.  Yet a little higher and both corners were strung with white.

              These were not small cobwebs.  They were several inches in diameter and so thick the black metal door looked as if someone had splashed white paint on it.  This is what I’m saying:  they were easy to see and had been there quite awhile yet I had missed seeing them.

              Here’s a question for you.  If cobwebs were dangerous in some way, poisonous perhaps, which would be the most dangerous, the ones you can’t see, or the ones you can? 

              Let me make that a little easier for you.  Those cobwebs that Keith gets down for me?  Before he retired I might not have seen them, but I knew they were there—cobwebs always hang from the ceiling.  When any special company was on the calendar, I always got the broom and brushed them down myself.  I knew where to brush whether I could see them there or not.  The cobwebs that hang all over the screen door as clear as day?  Those I never see because I never look for them.

              When we raised our boys we taught them several ways to avoid poisonous snakes.  One was to stay away from places they could hide, like wood piles and thick brush.  We also taught them to look for odd shapes and movement in the grass—the only way to see past their natural camouflage.  But on a cold sunny day, those things won’t be in some dark place, they’ll be right out in the open, basking on a sun-warmed rock or lying in the sun-baked field.  Which ones do you think are the hardest to see, simply because you aren’t looking for them?

              Now think about the dangers in your spiritual life.  Which temptations are the most perilous, the ones you know to look for or the ones you don’t bother to look for?  Which of your faults are the most dangerous?  The ones you are trying to work on, or the ones you refuse to see?

              What’s the moral of the story?  Always be looking.  Don’t fool yourself with that psychological trick called denial.  It won’t make the snakes disappear.  It won’t make the poison less venomous.  You have an enemy who isn’t stupid.  He has great camouflage.  Sometimes he looks like a friend, sometimes he looks like a blessing, sometimes he even looks like you. 

              Do a daily character exam.  Look for the cobwebs in your soul.  Look where you see them and where you don’t.  Or get someone with better eyesight to do it for you, and then listen to them.  “That’s just how I am,” may be the biggest lie anyone ever got you to believe.  Blindness is not an excuse for sin.
 
For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds, 2 Cor 11:13,14.
 
Dene Ward