I have had my bird feeders now for over ten years.  What began with one wooden trough and one hummingbird feeder is now that trough plus three hanging feeders and two hummingbird feeders.  If you have been with me long, you know all the lessons we have gleaned from all those birds.  I keep a list now of every type of bird we have seen and it has grown to 37. 

If you had asked me before I would have told you no, we don't have more than a dozen varieties here in the backwoods.  Part of that mistake came because all we offered our birds was bird seed.  We put out a block of suet after a couple of years, and suddenly we had a couple more kinds.  Finally I read that offering them water would increase the number you saw.  Not every bird is a seed-eater, but they all need water.  Suddenly instead of just cardinals, titmice, chickadees, wrens, sparrows, and catbirds, we had brown thrashers, blue jays, black and white warblers, bluebirds, grosbeaks, ovenbirds, buntings, and a host more.
 
             We need to think of these things in terms of offering our congregations to our friends and neighbors.  What are we offering our communities?  A place to "worship right"?  Or a vibrant, supportive community of believers, growing and active, constantly involved with each other and the work?  Which one do you think will inevitably attract more people?  Let's be honest.  A church that "worships right" won't mean a thing to most unbelievers, but a group that shows their care and devotion to one another and the Lord, and who reaches out to them, even and especially in their need, can break down walls that can eventually, with time and teaching, become an understanding of Truth and the Mission the Lord has left us with.  "Worshiping right" will take of itself.

              Stop throwing seed at the meat-eaters.  Put out some living water and watch them come!
 
Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.” (John 4:10-15)
 
Dene Ward

Lines of wooden tables covered with red checked cloths, yellowed cotton cloths, handmade crocheted cloths, loaded till sagging, every square inch laden with stoneware bowls full of red potato salad, yellow with mustard, and studded with chopped celery, sweet pickle nuggets, and chunks of hard-boiled egg; bright orange carrot salad polka-dotted with black raisins; clear glass bowls of layered salads, various shades of green, orange, white, and yellow; finely chopped slaws, pale green with orange and purple flecks and dressed in a white dressing or a sweet vinegar; chipped china platters of golden-eyed deviled eggs, some bloodshot with paprika; luscious pink ham slices, and piles of fried chicken covered with a homemade breading redolent with spices and herbs, the chicken itself tangy and moist from a buttermilk brine; club aluminum Dutch ovens filled with pole beans, green beans, speckled butterbeans, and white acres, mustard, turnip and collard greens, all sporting a sheen of bacon drippings and shreds of pork; cast iron pots of bubbling baked beans spiked with molasses and the contents of every bottle in the refrigerator; others loaded with fall apart pot roast, pork roast, or chicken and bright yellow rice; others still steaming with chicken and slicker style dumplings; spoons sticking up akimbo from mason jars full of the jewel colors of various pickles, everything from deep red to chartreuse to layers of emerald green, canary yellow, and white; baskets of fluffy, tan buttermilk biscuits, soft yeast rolls, and black skillets of cornbread wedges; pies billowing with meringue, dense with pecans, or fruit bubbling from a vented golden crust; moist cake layers enrobed in swirls of chocolate or cream cheese or clouds of seven minute frosting, some cloaked in coconut, others with nuts peeking out from the coating—none of them exactly perfect because everything is homemade.

              That’s what potluck was like when I was a child.  It was far superior to today’s offerings, at least half of which are purchased on the way—fold-up boxes of fried chicken and take-out pizza, plastic containers of salads and slaws, and bakery boxes of cakes and pies, all entirely too perfect to be made from scratch.  Is it any wonder that everyone rushes for the obviously homemade goodies and even snatches slices of cake early, before going through the regular line, and hides them for a later dessert?

              Potluck originally referred to feeding drop-in guests or folks passing through who needed a meal whatever was in the pot that evening.  Drop-ins were not considered rude in those days.  I remember my parents thoroughly enjoying the evenings when someone just happened to stop by.  We didn’t load our lives down with extra-curricular activities back then--people were the activities.

              Potluck eventually came to mean “You bring what you have and I’ll bring what I have and we’ll eat together.”  It didn’t really involve any extra work—that was the point.  When no one has enough of one thing but you pool it together, there is plenty for everyone, and plenty of time left to visit.

              We often speak of “feasting on the word of God.”  I wonder what would happen if we had a potluck?  What would I have to offer?  Anything at all?  Do I spend enough time in the word of God to have thoughts on it readily at hand?  Most of us are too embarrassed to show up at a real potluck with nothing in our hands, but think nothing of showing up to a Bible study with nothing to share.

              Would my spiritual table be loaded down with good food or store-bought, processed, preservative-laden grub because I had no time left in my day to cook something up?  Would my offering be fresh and nutritious or calorie-laden and fatty?  Would it be a gracious plenty mounded high in the bowl or spooned into a plastic cup barely big enough to feed one?  Would it be piping hot or lukewarm?  Would people go away satisfied or determined to avoid my table at all costs in the future?

             Think about it tonight when you look at the meal you feed your family. What’s in that spiritual pot of yours should someone happen by?  Would they be lucky or not? 
 
"Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David, Isaiah 55:1-3.
 
Dene Ward
 

Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.

Numbers 25 begins with a sad tale. The children of Israel allowed themselves to be drawn away by the “daughters of Moab” and bowed themselves to the Moabites’ gods. God became angry and sent a plague which killed 24,000 of his people. God told Moses to slay all those who had joined themselves to the Moabites’ gods.  Moses passes this on to the judges of the people and it is done.  Or so everyone thought.  In verse six we see that, while everyone is gathered by the door of the tabernacle grieving over what had happened, one man brazenly appeared with one of these women.  What happens next might be considered startling:

Num. 25:7-8 “And when Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, saw it, he rose up from the midst of the congregation, and took a spear in his hand; and he went after the man of Israel into the pavilion, and thrust both of them through, the man of Israel, and the woman through her body. So the plague was stayed from the children of Israel.”

No doubt, some in Israel thought that Phinehas had acted precipitously.  Lest any accuse him of that, God pronounced His blessing upon Phinehas:

Num. 25:10-13 “And Jehovah spake unto Moses, saying, Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, has turned my wrath away from the children of Israel, in that he was jealous with my jealousy among them, so that I consumed not the children of Israel in my jealousy. Wherefore say, Behold, I give unto him my covenant of peace: and it shall be unto him, and to his seed after him, the covenant of an everlasting priesthood; because he was jealous for his God, and made atonement for the children of Israel.”

Phinehas turned away God’s wrath because he was jealous for God.  His anger on God's behalf at seeing his countryman turning after another god resulted in his killing that man.  He was so zealous to keep Israel pure for God that he wiped out the sin from Israel and was vindicated by God.

Would God say the same about me that He said about Phinehas?  No, I’m not advocating “honor killings” in the church, but just how jealous am I for the Lord?  Does it disgust and sadden me when I see people turning from the Lord, having been caught up in this life?  When an impenitent sinner is defiling spiritual Israel am I ready to “Purge out the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, even as you are unleavened”? (1 Cor. 5:7)  Or do I keep making excuses for the sinner?  

Speaking of purity, how far am I willing to go to maintain my own purity?  Paul talks about beating his body to keep it under control (1 Cor. 9:27), a figure of speech I’m sure, but one that illustrates Paul’s dedication to his purity.  Do I keep my carnal, fleshly urges under tight control or do I give in to every temptation?  How hard do I fight, how jealous am I for God?

God made a “covenant of peace” with Phinehas because Phinehas demonstrated a fierce jealousness, or zealousness, for the Lord.  When God sees my zeal for Him, would He offer me the same, or would He turn sadly away?

Lucas Ward

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