My little guys live on a cul-de-sac.  And not just on it, but at the very end.  Understand too, apart from one next door neighbor, no one else actually lives on the circle.  The property around the rest of it is empty and meant by the builders to stay that way.  That means they have the whole end of the street to themselves to play in.
 
             And play they do, rounding the circle on scooters and bikes at speeds that ruffle the ends of blonde hair sticking out under their helmets and send their shirts flapping.  It also means they have more room besides their front and back yards for Frisbee flying and ball playing and kite sailing.  When we visit, more often than not, we wind up sitting on the front porch "spectating" while they play, their blue eyes bright and smiles big as they make turn after turn.

              Reminds me of a place my family lived a few years before we moved to Tampa, another cul-de-sac called "Bristol Court."  Only we lived at the top of the street, a hill by Florida standards, and I rode my own bike down that hill over and over.  It may have been hot, but it was still a real breeze I felt in the middle of a Florida summer, cooling the perspiration for at least a few minutes as my bike picked up speed on the downward slope.  The only difference between me and the boys?  We called it a dead end street back then.  If you had said "cul-de-sac", all of our neighbors would have looked at you with a "Huh?" look.

              I suppose someone thought all those yellow signs that labeled a short street a "dead end" were insulting to the residents.  First, they changed them to "No Outlet."  Those signs are still up, but how many people now ever speak of their dead end street as anything but a "cul-de-sac?"

              People are quick to use euphemisms, especially to put a better spin on something particularly ugly.  "Ethnic cleansing" is really genocide.  "Early retirement" often covers a company's downsizing by firing older workers.  An "urban outdoorsman" is someone who is homeless.  (Exactly how is that less heartless than "homeless"?)  "Negative patient outcome" means he died!  "Collateral damage" is also about death—the death of an unintended target.  And yet more death—"pregnancy termination" is abortion.

              All of these things are attempts to make something that is uncomfortable to talk about, much easier to discuss, to deal with, and ultimately, to do.  Satan has been doing this for a long time.  "Let us take our fill of love till morning," the temptress says in Prov 7:18.  What she means is, "Let's go commit adultery."  In a day where love is supposed to excuse every sin, where "God knows my heart" takes the place of following His will and remaining "holy as he is holy," we must be especially cautious.

              A cul-de-sac is a neat place to live and I am glad my grandsons have the same opportunity I had as a child to enjoy that safer street to play in.  But here is something funny:  the literal meaning of the French cul-de-sac, which is supposed to be some higher class word, we Americans think, is actually "the bottom of the bag."  Which is right where we will find ourselves when we try to use more palatable words to cover up our sin before an angry God.

              The bottom of the bag is still a dead end street for anyone who thinks otherwise.
 
Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! (Isa 5:20)
 
Dene Ward

The first time I received a bushel of pears from a neighbor out here in the country I was disappointed.  I was used to the pears in the store, especially juicy Bartletts, and creamy, vanilla-scented Boscs.  As with a great many things here in this odd state, only certain types grow well, and they are nothing like the varieties you see in the seed and plant catalogues or on the Food Network shows.  We always called them Florida Pears, but recently learned they were Sand Pears, and in this sandy state that makes good sense.  They are hard and tasteless.  In fact, Keith and I decided you could stone someone to death with them.  We nearly threw them away. 

              Then an older friend told me what to do with them.  They make the best pear preserves you ever dripped over a biscuit—amber colored, clear chunks of fruit swimming in a sea of thick, caramel flavored syrup.  Then she made a cobbler and I thought I was eating apples instead of pears.  No, you don’t want to eat them out of hand unless they are almost overripe, but you most certainly do want to spoon out those preserves and dig into that cinnamon-scented, crunchy topped cobbler.  They aren’t pretty; they are hard to peel and chop; but don’t give up on them if you are ever lucky enough to get some.

              A lot of us give up on people out there.  We see the open sin in their lives and the culture they come from and decide they could never change.  Have you ever studied the Herods in the New Testament?  If ever there was a soap opera family, one that would even make Jerry Springer blush, it’s them.  They were completely devoid of “natural affection,” sons trying to assassinate fathers, and fathers putting sons and wives to death.  Their sex lives were an open sewer—swapping husbands at a whim; a brother and sister living together as a married couple; leaving marriages without even a Roman divorce and solely for the sake of power and influence.

              Yet Paul approaches Herod Agrippa II, the son of Herod Agrippa I who had James killed and Peter imprisoned, the grandnephew of Antipas who took his brother's wife and then had John the Baptist imprisoned and killed, great-grandson of Herod the Great who had the babies killed at Jesus’ birth, a man who even then was living with his sister, almost as if he expected to convert him.  Listen to this:

              I consider myself fortunate that it is before you, King Agrippa, I am going to make my defense today against all the accusations of the Jews, especially because you are familiar with all the customs and controversies of the Jews. Therefore I beg you to listen to me patiently, Acts 26:2,3.

              Yes, I am sure there was some tact involved there, but did you know that Agrippa had been appointed advisor in Jewish social and religious customs?  Somehow the Romans knew that he had spent time becoming familiar with his adopted religion—during the time between the Testaments the Herods were forced to become Jews and then later married into the family of John Hyrcanus, a priest.  No, he didn’t live Judaism very well, but then neither did many of the Pharisees nor half the priesthood at that point.  But Agrippa knew Judaism, and Paul was counting on that.

              Paul then spends verses 9 through 23 telling Agrippa of the monumental change he had made in his own life.  Here was a man educated at the feet of the most famous teacher of his times, the rising star of Judaism, destined to the Sanhedrin at the very least, fame and probably fortune as well.  Look at the list of things he “counts as loss” in Philippians 3.  Yet this man gives it all up and becomes one of the hated group he had formerly imprisoned and persecuted to the death, forced to live on the charity of the very group he had hated along with a pittance from making a tent here and there.  Talk about a turnaround.  Do you think he told Agrippa his story just to entertain him?  Maybe he was making this point—yes, you have a lot to change, but if I could do it, so can you.

              In verse 27, he makes his final plea--King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know you believe!  Paul had not given up on changing this man whom many of us would never have even tried to convert.  And it “almost” worked.

              Who have you given up on?  Who has a hard heart, a lifestyle that would be useless to anyone but God?  Who, like these pears, needs the heat of preaching and the sweet of compassion?  Who could change if someone just believed in them enough?

              Sand pears seem tasteless to people who don’t work with them, who don’t spend the time necessary to treat them in the way they require.  Are we too busy to save a soul that is a little harder than most?  Who took the time to cook you into a malleable heart for God?  It’s time to return the favor.
 
And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules. You shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers, and you shall be my people, and I will be your God. And I will deliver you from all your uncleannesses... Ezek 36:26-29.
 
Dene Ward

Do you spend any time visiting people? Jesus gave a sobering scene of the final judgment in Matthew 25. One good trait commended in that passage is, visiting disciples in need. One cause of judgment against the wicked is, “you did not visit Me” (Matt. 25:43). One of the steps Moses took toward his usefulness as a servant of God was, “it came into his heart to visit his brethren,” (Acts 7:23). In our modern fast-paced time, we easily neglect this simple duty. Or, we assume somebody else will do it (like “the preacher”). How much time do you spend visiting people and providing for their greatest needs?

Warren Berkley, berksblog, May 20, 2019

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world (Jas 1:27).

What you don’t know won’t hurt you.

            I didn’t know that Keith had taken Chloe’s food pan and set it in my chair on the carport when he blew the dust off a few Saturdays ago.  He didn’t notice that she had left a few kibbles.  Neither one of us knew that a few fire ants had gotten in there and they had migrated out to my chair when he disturbed them.  I didn’t know they had started crawling into my clothes when I sat down there until a few minutes after we walked back into the house.  Suddenly I was ripping off my clothes and slapping myself.  I wound up with bites on my chest, back, arms, and legs, and a ring of them around my neck.  I felt lousy for a day or two, not to mention the aggravating itch.  What I didn’t know did in fact hurt me quite a bit.

            That seems obvious, but sometimes we act like ignorance is a viable excuse for most anything.  And indeed, sometimes it is.  A new Christian has a lot to learn.  As long as he is studying and praying and trying as hard as he can to learn what he needs to be and do, his prayer for the grace of God will keep him safe.  I believe that with all my heart.

            But when I have been a Christian for years and years and have done nothing to learn and grow, or have simply stopped, that is inexcusable. 

            Learning new facts can be difficult, especially as I grow older.  Trying to see past the superficial to the amazing depth of God’s word can mean I must try to comprehend things I have never even thought of before.  Yet how many times have I heard “I never heard of such a thing” as the instant dismissal of a new thought in a Bible class?  How many times have I heard people complain because a class was “too deep?”  What a shameful thing for a Christian to say.      

            Then we get to the crux of the matter, for applying principles to my life can be as painful as a shirt full of fire ants.  Who in the world actually wants to know what they are doing wrong?  Why, I’ve been a Christian forty years; I’m not about to admit I still have weaknesses I need to confront in anything but a general way.

            That is, however, exactly what God expects of us.  The shame is that usually the babes in the Word are hungrier to learn and grow than we old-timers.  But we had better shape up, sooner rather than later, or ant bites will be the least of our problems.
 
Hear the word of Jehovah you children of Israel, for Jehovah has a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth or goodness or knowledge of God in the land.  My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.  Because you have rejected knowledge, I will reject you…Hosea 4:1,6.
 
Dene Ward

When my boys were small, I bought them a book with the above title.  It was written by Ruth Shannon Odor and has the format of a Little Golden Book, including the gold spine.  However, it is called a "Happy Day" book, put out by Standard Publishing of Cincinnati.  The illustrations, drawn by Robert Burchett, are colorful, a bit cartoonish, perfect for a child.
 
             The book begins with the usual manners we all try to teach our children, but divides them as to location—home, playground, school, and most interesting to me, church!  By the end you realize that the point of the whole book is that when you try to be like Jesus, you will be courteous and considerate of others.  In short, you will have good manners!

              My boys loved that book.  I occasionally took it to the children's Bible classes I taught and they loved it too.  And now I have introduced it to my grandsons and they love it.  And all of this is in spite of the fact that they occasionally see themselves in the book and hang their little heads in embarrassment.

              I think its appeal might be the characters that are included:
              Me-First Millie
              Sulky Sue
              Look-at-Me Louie
              That's Mine Thelma
              Picky Pete
              Messy Bessy, and a few others.

              All come with pictures to match.  Over the years, my own boys were apt to look at one another and say, "Now don't be a Look-at-Me Louie!" or some other of the characters.

              I thought it might be interesting over the next few weeks, on Mondays as often as I can manage it, to see what kind of people some of these characters might have grown up to be, if they were real.  And oh yes, they are real.  We run into them every day, and sadly, even among our brethren.  We might ourselves still be clinging to childish ways without realizing it.  But this is important for, as the book concludes:

              "Jesus taught us to be  kind, to love others, to treat others as we would  like to be treated…If we try to be like Jesus in all we say and do, then good manners will be as easy as 1-2-3, A-B-C."
 
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. (Phil 2:3-4)
 
Dene Ward
 

On August 9, 1854, Walden by Henry David Thoreau was published under its original name, Life in the Woods.  A book categorized by various critics as autobiography, natural history, philosophy, and social criticism, it became a slogan source among the educated hippie movement of the 60s.  Thoreau had left "modern" living to stay in a hut on the banks of Walden Pond without even the minimal luxuries of his day for two years, two months, and two days.  He wanted to be away from the constraints of society and the pull of personal expectations that society places in us.  He wanted to be "different."

               When I was growing up, all young people wanted to be "different," so quotes from Walden proliferated among them, even though they did not apply at all.  As I looked around me and actually considered what was happening, it dawned on me that they didn't really want to be different.  They just didn't want rules or even societal expectations.  They wanted to be different from their parents.  But every single one of them wanted that in exactly the same way, and they all wanted to be just like each other. 

               When it came right down to it, I was one of the "different" ones.  I wore my skirts to my knees, no strapless or spaghetti straps, nor deep vee necks or backs, no short shorts, no bikinis.  I never swore, never smoked, drank, or used drugs.  And they all knew it.  But because I was not like them, I was an outcast.  So much for appreciating individuality.  They were as much hypocrites as they claimed their parents were.

              Now think a minute about Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Those boys were probably the same age as our children who struggle with wanting to be like all their friends—late middle school to early high school.  Not only were they different, they reveled in it.  They forced the issue with their insistence on different foods. 

              Just to clear up a few misconceptions, vegetarianism was not required by the Law.  In fact, to be a good Jew, you had to be a meat-eater.  The Passover meal and all the sacrifices required eating of the sacrificed animal as part of the worship.  So why did these boys insist on vegetables only?  It might have been that the meats they were given were sacrificed to idols.  Part of their training was probably in the Babylonian religion.  Maybe that is why they refused the meats.  But understand this, eating any meal prepared by Gentile hands in a Gentile country was unclean, even if it was not sacrificed to idols.

              So maybe this is the point:  they were trying to show that they were different from the other young men who had been carried away from other cultures.  They wanted to be seen as different.  And before long, their God-enhanced abilities made the differences even more obvious.  God himself made sure they were seen as different!  And they didn't mind one bit.

              So here is my question for you:  Are you teaching your children not only to be different, but to want to be different?  Do they want to stand out from the world or do they want to disappear into the crowd, eventually being swallowed up by the same desires and goals as the rest, living the same lifestyle, blending in, being, in the words of the Star Trek franchise, "assimilated?"

              When I graduated from high school, my junior English/senior Writing teacher gave me a poster with this quote from Walden: If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.  Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.  I did not realize its significance at first, but my mother did.  "She knows you are not like all the rest," she told me, "and she respects that."

              Why aren't we teaching our children, not to march in step with all their friends, but to listen for that distant, and different, drummer, and keep pace with Him.  Why aren't they as determined to do so as those three teenagers from Judah who sat in Nebuchadnezzar's court.  Perhaps, parents, we need to take them on a "visit", not to Walden Pond, but to Nazareth, Gethsemane, and Golgotha.  Maybe then, they would understand what it is really like to be "different."  Maybe we would, too.
 
For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. (1Pet 2:21)
 
Dene Ward

I’ve known a lot of people who seem to think that true repentance is shown by moping around in a depressed state for weeks on end, as if the longer they beat themselves up the more worthy they are of forgiveness.  If we have learned anything in our Psalms study lately, it’s just the opposite. 
 
             David shows us in the progression of repentance that occurs between Psalms 51 and 32 that we should “get over it;” that a failure to do so is harmful to our souls.

              In our class we charted the verses in those two psalms.  We found similar things in each:  repentance, the effects of sin, and the effects that God’s forgiveness ought to have in our lives.  Guess what we discovered?  In Psalm 51, obviously written within a short time after Nathan’s visit to David in 2 Sam 12, even though at that time Nathan proclaimed God’s forgiveness, David is fraught with guilt and sorrow, even physically ailing from that burden of regret.  He uses every synonym you can imagine for sin and his plea for mercy.  In our modern divisions, those pleas take up seven verses.  Another three describe his woeful emotional and physical state after finally recognizing the enormity and complexity of what he has done, a total of ten verses.

              Yes, he finally recognizes his forgiveness and spends three verses on his desire to get back to work for the Lord and on his concern for others, a general list of things he plans to carry out as “fruit meet for repentance.” 

              And Psalm 32?  This psalm is much less emotional.  David repents yet again, but in two verses this time instead of ten.  Does that mean it is not as heartfelt?  Of course not, but his focus has changed.  This time he spends most of the psalm recounting what he has learned from his sin and how to avoid it in the future.  Listen to instruction, hear counsel, consider and come to an understanding, learn to control yourself.  He has gone past emotion and is now using the experience to gain wisdom and strength.  Then he spends more time in concern for others, that they learn the same lessons he has. Finally he shouts for joy, the joy found in forgiveness and a renewed fellowship with God.  This section takes up four verses of an eleven verse psalm, where in 51 we are looking at three verses of a nineteen verse psalm.  Those four verses in Psalm 32 are far more practical and helpful to us in terms of overcoming than the ones in 51, where his grief over his sin is the focus. 

              By the time of Psalm 32’s writing, David has learned an invaluable lesson—though indeed his sin was “ever before me,” he understood that allowing one’s grief to paralyze him and pull him down into despondency was as much an aid to Satan as sinning in the first place.  He was no longer serving God; he was no longer serving others.  In fact, he was bringing others down with his depression.  There is a selfishness in this sort of sorrow that is completely inappropriate—a “worldly” sorrow.

              Grief is certainly fitting.  I wonder if we ever experience the kind of grief David did over sin, especially as shown in Psalm 51.  If we did, perhaps we would sin less.  But there comes a time when we must “get over it” and get back to work.  “Restore unto me the joy of your salvation,” David says (51:12).   “Be glad in the Lord and rejoice,” and “Shout for joy!” (32:11). Sitting in sackcloth and ashes for the rest of your life, David is telling us, is not the way to show gratitude for your forgiveness.   
 
For even if I made you grieve with my letter, I do not regret it—though I did regret it, for I see that that letter grieved you, though only for a while. As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. For you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, but also what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what fear, what longing, what zeal, what punishment! At every point you have proved yourselves innocent in the matter, 2 Cor 7:8-11.
 
Dene Ward

Just as I expected he would, Judah has long since conquered the scooter we gave him for his 5th birthday.  In fact, he wore that one out and is now, at six, on the next size up.  You should see that little guy as he rounds the cul-de-sac again and again, pushing off with his left foot, zooming around parked cars and navigating between the neighbor's trash cans on the edge of the road.  His older brother on his bike can barely keep up. 
 
             No one has to remind him to put on his helmet.  That's a good thing, because he has had his share of spills and the last time we were down, he had a doozy.  We saw him hit the road, but he waved us off as he stood up and lifted the scooter off the road, pushing it all the way to the driveway.  The blood was already pouring, so Granddad took him inside while I stayed with his brother.

              After a few minutes I was told that I was needed.  Granddad could do the cleaning, but Grandma was requested for the bandaging.  When I sat on the floor in front of his dangling leg I got my first good look at that knee.  A half dollar sized piece of skin was completely missing, as if someone had taken a grater and scraped it off, a nearly perfect circle.  Bright red and oozing blood, I knew that it needed some sort of antibiotic and I knew it would hurt.

              I looked up at those big blue eyes brimming with unshed tears, his little lips compressed into a straight line, trembling just a bit as he struggled to keep his composure.  "I will use the spray and blow on it to make it hurt less, okay?"

              "Okay," he managed to squeak out.

              A quick spray and Grandma nearly undid herself blowing as hard and long as she could until the walls around us began to spin.  Then a big bandage that barely covered that skinned spot and we were on to the next one, for the whole top of his foot and leg were scraped and bloody halfway to his knee.  Altogether we used five bandages, but that little guy never uttered a peep.

              "You were a very big boy!" I told him. 

              That seemed to ameliorate the still stinging wounds on his foot and leg.  He gave me a small smile and he was off to play again.  Later that evening when Mommy and Daddy came home, he was proud to show them his boo-boos and even prouder when I told them how brave he had been—"just like a grown up!"

              It must have been a week later before the irony struck me.  We told him how "big" and "brave" and "grown up" he had been.  I am not sure why, because many of the grownups I have seen are perfectly happy to whine and fuss and demand attention from everyone about every little thing that comes along.  Have you looked at Facebook lately?

              Yes, some things do need the concern and care of others.  Some things are so difficult to bear that we might very well topple without someone to lean on.  Those things, which are far worse than a skinned knee, demand our love and help and attention.

               But too many times a relatively minor trial is treated as if it were a life-threatening emergency.  Too often a "skinned knee" is used to judge our brethren as uncaring, or to excuse ourselves from serving.  Exactly what is "big, brave, and grown up" about that?

               Let this sweet little boy, who did his best to be "grown up," teach you what it means to be brave and mature.  Let him remind you that small things like skinned knees happen every day in the life of a Christian.  God expects us to doctor the wounds and then get back up and carry on, to dry the tears and act like an adult.  As a general rule, skinned knees won't kill you.
 
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, (2Cor 4:16-17)
 
Dene Ward

It is a culinary fact that fat tempers acid.  That is why some of the world’s favorite dishes combine a good helping of both.  Melted mozzarella offsets a tomato-y pizza sauce.  A cheese-stuffed calzone is almost unbearably rich without a small bowl of marinara to dip it in.  A homemade pimento cheese sandwich SCREAMS for a homemade dill pickle on the side.  The South’s favorite summer treat, a drippy tomato sandwich on high quality white bread, simply must be slathered with a glop of mayo.  Fat and acid—the perfect combination; it’s why we dip French fries in ketchup and chips in salsa; it’s why the favorite toppings for a hot dog are ketchup, mustard, relish, and chili.  It’s why we put whipped cream on strawberries and why a Key lime pie is just about the perfect dessert.

            Trials, tribulations, sufferings and afflictions are the acid tests for Christians.  No one wants to go through them, yet we all understand that is what makes us stronger, builds up our faith, keeps us able to endure till the end.  All of us would be spiritual wimps without them. 

            What we fail to realize is that God gives us plenty of fat to offset them.  How many blessings can you count in your life today, not even considering the most wonderful one of all, your salvation?  How many good things happened to you just this morning?  Did your car start?  Did you make it to work safely?  Are your children safely ensconced in a safe place?  Do you still have a roof over your head?  Is there food in your refrigerator?  Is the electricity on, the water running and the AC humming away?  Are their flowers blooming in your yard and birds singing in the trees?  Do you have pleasant memories to calm you in the midst of sorrows?  Is there a Bible in your home and are you free to read it whenever you want to?  Did you pray to a Father who loves you more than anything else?  How many more “fat” items can we come up with?  Probably enough to fill even the gigabytes of memory in our computers if we just took the time to think of them.  If you have trouble, just ask a three-year-old—they are pros at this.

            I don’t mean to make light of people’s problems with this little analogy—but then again, maybe I do.  Paul calls them “light afflictions” in 2 Corinthians 4, and he was including persecution to the death in that context.  Compared to the end result, compared to the reward, compared to our Savior’s sufferings so we could have that reward, our trials and tribulations are light indeed.

            So today, if you are in the middle of a struggle, if the acid is burning your soul, look for the fat God gave you to temper it.  Look for everything good in your day, in your life, no matter how small it may seem.  If that doesn’t work, and sometimes it doesn’t, remember the good that will result from your testing, and don’t let it be for nothing.  Don’t let Satan win.  The bigger the tomato, the more mayo God smears on, if you only know where to look.
 
Wherefore we faint not, for though our outer man is decaying, our inward man is renewed day by day.  For this momentary light affliction works for us more and more exceedingly an eternal weight of glory; while we look not at things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal, 2 Cor 4:16-18.
 
Dene Ward

Nothing annoys me much more than a chirping smoke alarm.  Yes, yes, yes, I tell it.  I know you need a new battery.  I will get to it as soon as I can.  But aren't we glad we have them?
 
             It has taken a long time for affordable, reliable, home smoke detectors to hit the market.  The first fire alarm was invented and patented by Francis Robbins Upton, a friend of Thomas Edison's, in 1890.  George Andrew Darby of Birmingham, England invented the first smoke detector in 1902.  Both items were too basic to be reliable and marketable.  In the late 1930s a Swiss physicist named Walter Jaeger attempted to invent a poison gas detector.  It didn't detect the poison, but the smoke from his cigarette did set it off.  This one was too expensive to produce to have much impact on the market.

              I was finally able to find a patent given to inventors Randolph J. Smith of Anaheim, California and Kenneth R House of Norwalk, Connecticut on August 5, 1969.  Their model was evidently the first battery-powered residential model that was actually affordable and reliable.  It emitted a piercing alarm at the presence of smoke.  And yes, I suppose it did that annoying little chirping thing too.

              Maybe it’s because I am the only one around here who even needs the smoke alarm.  Keith not only can’t hear the chirping, he can stand under the thing when it goes off and not hear it.  As long as I am in the house I can wake Keith up and get both of us out in time should a fire start.  If only the toaster and the broiler and the occasional spillover on the burners didn't set it off too.

              Warnings are often annoying.  How about the various beeps in your car?  For us, it’s just the ding-ding-ding when you leave the keys in, but I have friends whose cars ring, buzz, beep, or whoop-whoop-whoop when they back up too close to something, pull in too close to something, swerve a little too close to the lane markings, let their gas tanks get too low, open the wrong door at the wrong time…  Honestly, I don’t know how they stand to drive at all.

              But only a fool ignores warnings.  And there are quite a few of them out there—fools, that is.  Just try warning someone about losing their soul, and you may well lose a friend.  They get mad, they strike out with accusations about your own failings, they tell everyone how mean you are.  Trouble is, ignoring the warnings won’t get them anywhere they want to go. The danger is still there.

              If I don’t answer the call of the chirping smoke alarm with a new battery, I may very well burn to death one night.  Telling everyone how annoying the thing is won’t change that at all.  If I don’t answer the warnings of someone who cares enough about me to brave losing his reputation and being hurt, my end won’t change either.  It doesn’t matter whether I thought he was mean or whether he needed a warning just as badly as I did.  I know the first reaction is anger.  I’ve been there myself.  But anger never saved anyone, nor accusations, nor whining and fussing about my hurt feelings.  There is a whole lot more at stake than a few feelings.

              Heed the warning when you get it, no matter how you get it or from whom.  It may be the only one you get.  People aren’t like smoke alarms.  Not many of them will put up with your bad reactions.  They’ll either stop chirping, or never chirp again.  Then what will you do when the fire starts?
 
"Son of man, speak to your people and say to them, If I bring the sword upon a land, and the people of the land take a man from among them, and make him their watchman, and if he sees the sword coming upon the land and blows the trumpet and warns the people, then if anyone who hears the sound of the trumpet does not take warning, and the sword comes and takes him away, his blood shall be upon his own head. He heard the sound of the trumpet and did not take warning; his blood shall be upon himself. But if he had taken warning, he would have saved his life,   Ezekiel 33:2-5.
 
Dene Ward