When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left.

            While he is doing this, half a dozen folks start milling around, unsure of where they belong.

           Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ​I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’

           The uncertain ones, who do not know exactly where they should line up, hear the commendation of the sheep and step into line behind them.  “Surely this is where we belong,” they assure one another quietly.  But the Lord leaves them standing.

           “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’

           “Wait,” one of them finally speaks up.  “We certainly don’t belong in that group.  Where is the other line?”

           Finally the Lord seems to notice them.  “I don’t see another line.”

           “But there must be!” they all insist with one voice.

           "So,” said the Lord, “tell me what line you think is missing.”

           Finally feeling a bit more confident, one man stepped up and said, “The one for people who get mad.”  Suddenly he realized how that sounded when he said it out loud, and quickly explained. 

           “I was a Christian for years but things got rough in my life.  I couldn’t quite get myself turned around and I—uh—well, I’m afraid I left the church.”
“Yes,” the Lord said quietly, “I know.”

            That didn’t even seem to faze the man and he went right on.  “Well, brother ________ came to talk to me.  I did not like the way he did it.  He told me I was wrong and I needed to straighten up my life, that I knew better than that.  He made me so mad I just couldn’t go back, ever again!”

            “I see,” said the Lord.  “You know, he spoke to me about that before he went to see you.  He asked for help to say the right things.  I’m sorry you didn’t like the way I helped him.  And you sister?” he asked, turning to the next person leaving the first man sputtering.

           “Sister _____________ came to me and she really hurt my feelings when she told me I should think about the clothes I was wearing.  What I wear is none of her business!”

           “Actually it is,” replied the Lord.  “You see I told the older women to teach young women like you.  She risked losing your good will to try to help you, and you have a remarkable lack of gratitude.”

            He turned to the next young woman.  “And you?”

         “The same as her, sir, except it wasn’t about my clothes.  I dress modestly all the time and,” she added, pointedly looking to the first man, “I never miss a service of the church.  But she had the nerve to tell me I should be careful in my speech.  I do NOT use bad language, just maybe I talk a little too much, especially about other people, but I mean no harm!  I’m just trying to help.”

           “Ah,” said the Lord.  “So what did you do then?”

          "I told everyone exactly how mean she was to me and how much she hurt my feelings!  And you know what?  All my friends agreed with me!” she crowed triumphantly.

           “So let’s see.  You went around slandering her to everyone, is that what you are confessing to?”

           The woman’s smug look suddenly disintegrated into one of uncertainty.  “Well, so many agreed with me.”

           The Lord looked over his shoulder to the line on the left.  “The people who did not try to save your soul, who, in fact, urged you on in your sin by refusing to correct you, are right over there with the other goats.  You just thought they were your friends.” 

          Then he looked over the whole group, which had begun increasing in size when the conversations had first begun as many left the left line suddenly seeing a way out.  “And the rest of you?  Same problem?  Someone ‘made you mad” or ‘hurt your feelings?’ And so you are looking for another line to stand in?  What should we call it?”

          They all stood there looking at one another and finally the first man spoke again.  “Well, we could be the ones who get in because someone was mean to us.”

         The Lord shook his head sadly.  “So how someone else talks to you—even someone who meant well and did their best, and even asked for my guidance in speaking to you—and because you did not like how they did it but got your revenge in slander and then remained in your sin, you still get to spend Eternity with me?”

           They looked at one another, hunching their shoulders as if trying to hide, no longer as sure of themselves as they had been.   

         “Let me tell you something,” he said.  “I saw every one of these ‘mean’ people in action.  I know their hearts.  Only a tiny fraction of them had a bad attitude, and they are over there in the left line where they belong.  You might recall Paul talking about some of them in Phil 1:14-18.  He didn’t care how those men spoke, just that the truth was being taught.  That’s the attitude you should have had.  There are a whole lot fewer of them than there are of you.  Nearly every person who tried to help you is in this line on the right.

            “So--if I can say, ‘well done,’ to you, then get in the line on my right with them.  But if I can’t say ‘well done,’ because you used someone else’s actions as your excuse and refused to change, get in the other one, right next to all my people down through the centuries who stoned preachers and killed the prophets who told them to repent.  

           “You see,” he finished, “there is no third line.”
 
And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life. Matt 25:46.
 
Dene Ward

I stepped outside a few days ago, another humid late summer morning, and noticed first that it was not quite as warm as it has been, perhaps 70-71 instead of the usual overnight lows of 76-80.  A breeze soon picked up and Chloe quickened the pace to an excited romp as we walked around the fence line. 

            The birds enjoyed the morning as well, especially a red-bellied woodpecker that sat on the old corner post of the dog pen, singing his high pitched “chuck, chuck, chuck.”  A cardinal answered with “purty, purty, purty,” and soon a blue jay joined in the chorus with his pretty wooden whistle rather than the usual ugly squawk.  But by the time Chloe and I returned from the gate, the birds had stopped singing and smoke had begun to filter in.  Someone was burning off a field or a brush pile nearby, and before long I had to go inside just to take a deep breath and clear my lungs.

            Smoke has a way of taking over.  You can’t miss whatever smell it brings—acrid leaf fires, fragrant wood fires, aromatic barbecues, or the sad and awful smell of someone’s home burning to the ground. Whatever the odor, it hangs around for a long time, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not. 

            My favorite reference to smoke in the scriptures is the one in Rev 8:3,4.  And another angel came and stood at the altar with a golden censer, and he was given much incense to offer with the prayers of all the saints on the golden altar before the throne, and the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel. Just as smoke cannot be ignored, just as burning incense fills your nostrils to the point that any other smell is extinguished, our prayers rise to God in a way He cannot disregard.  We mean that much to Him. 

            If you have ever been in a room where someone has lit a scented candle some time in the day, you know its odor lingers long after. In fact, I can smell mine just walking by the drawer where I keep them, even inside a plastic bag, never yet having been lit.  Incense is even stronger.  That smell will permeate the furniture and draperies.  It will seep through the cracks under and around the doors and waft down the halls.  That is the figure God chose to encourage us.  Even in the midst of the horrible suffering those early Christians were about to endure, He told them, “Your prayers to me will not be ignored.  I will smell them as intensely and constantly as one smells the smoke of incense.  I will not forget you or what you have endured for my sake.”

            That promise stands for us as well.  It is easy, as we endure trial after trial, to think that God has forgotten us, that He no longer hears our prayers.  Yet our prayers rise like incense every bit as much as those first Christians’ prayers.  Why did He save that writing for us if it isn’t true?  He knew what they were about to endure, and that they must endure it, so He gave them the ultimate encouragement—I am still here; I am still listening; I am in control and all will be well in the end.

            So how much smoke are you sending up to Him as you face your trials?  How strong is that burning incense?  Don’t make it so weak that even God would miss it.
 
O LORD, God of my salvation; I cry out day and night before you. Let my prayer come before you; incline your ear to my cry!... Let my prayer be counted as incense before you, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice! Psa 88:1,2; 141:2.
 
Dene Ward

This year’s garden has made me even more aware that I am growing older.  The heat makes me woozier than ever before.  The bending over gives me a backache that lasts all day and usually into the night.  My hands no longer have the strength to win the tug of war with most weeds.  And I just plain wear out faster.  We have looked at one another and asked, “How much longer can we do this?”  It’s not the only time we ask that question.

           Will this be our last dog?  Will this one be our last car?  How much longer can we take care of this acreage with a shovel, a tiller, and a chainsaw?  We did, in fact, decide that our last camping trip was probably the “last.”  The drive is harder on us.  The set-up takes longer and longer and more and more energy.  We often wind up just sitting around the fire a whole day afterward to recover.  Then there is the pull down and the drive home, and the seemingly endless unpacking and putting up.  When we found ourselves dreading the next trip, we knew it was time to quit.

            And so I look at our work in the kingdom and think, “How much longer do we have?”  How many more classes will we be able to teach?  How many more “weekends” will I be able to travel and give to large groups of ladies?  And the more I wonder these things, the more I feel like screaming out, “You need to call while you can!  You need to come while I am still able to see my notes and talk!  You need to arrange your schedule and get here if you want anything I have left to give.”  Because I really do want to share it with you, and I never know what tomorrow will bring. 

           I know several other older women who feel exactly the same way.  None of us are getting any younger and it is precisely that problem that gives us so much to share with you—experience only comes with age, but age makes life precarious.
           
           Every day we are closer to the last, and before that, we are closer to an age when our service will become limited, when all we may be able to do is offer to someone younger an opportunity to serve an older brother or sister.  We will eventually become like Barzillai, the wealthy old man who supported David when Absalom rebelled.  As David headed back to the palace, he asked Barzillai to come with him so he could be honored for his loyalty and service in an appropriate way.  But Barzillai said to the king, “How many years have I still to live, that I should go up with the king to Jerusalem? I am this day eighty years old. Can I discern what is pleasant and what is not? Can your servant taste what he eats or what he drinks? Can I still listen to the voice of singing men and singing women? Why then should your servant be an added burden to my lord the king? 2Sam 19:34-35.  But even at 80 he had served as he could, even if all it amounted to was using his wealth and his servants to do for his king, rather than doing the serving himself. 

           It is said of David after he had served the purpose of God in his own generation he fell asleep, Acts 13:36.  As long as we are still alive, there is still a purpose of God to be served—we just have to use a little more creativity in finding it!

           And for those who are young and reading this, your time is running out too.  None of us really knows how long we have left.  “All things being equal” we say about the young outliving us, but in this life nothing is ever “equal.”  I have seen too many young people lose their lives to disease and accident to feel at all comfortable for you.  You need to make the most of your time too.  The purpose God has in mind for you may be a very short one.

           And so it is up to all of us to make the most of the time, to “redeem it” as Paul told the Ephesians.  Do not put off the spiritual things—Bible study, prayer, meditating, serving.  Do not think that “someday” you will be in an easier time of life, a time when you can become a better Christian, a better father or mother, a better husband or wife.  That time will never come unless you make it happen.

           The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away. Ps 90:10 

           It flies faster than you can ever imagine, and if you have not prepared yourself properly, eternity will last longer than you ever thought possible.
 
O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. Ps 71:17-18
 
Dene Ward

I remember visiting our children in Tampa once when Silas was still a toddler.  He was in the family room, around the corner through the kitchen. Instead of turning right through the kitchen, Keith headed straight ahead into the living room.  At 17 months, Silas finally seemed to recognize and remember us.  As soon as he heard his grandfather’s distinctive Arkansas drawl, he came running.  Deaf as he is, Keith didn’t hear him and kept going at first, while small towheaded Silas kept toddling behind, a huge grin on his face, until finally Granddad turned around and saw him.

            Have you ever followed anyone that way?  The people who followed Jesus did. And [Jesus and the apostles] went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. Mark 6:32,33. They dropped what they were doing and left their work and their homes because they recognized that what he was teaching was different, that he spoke “as one having authority,” yet with a compassion for them that none of their other religious leaders showed.  He drew crowds wherever he went, people so interested in hearing him that the practicality of it all didn’t daunt them.  They followed regardless the inconvenience and sacrifice, even of necessities–like food for the day—so he even met that need for them more than once.

            Would we recognize his voice if he were walking among us today?  Could we tell that though the things he said sounded different than “what we’d always heard,” (Matt 5) it was the simple truth?  In fact, what sort of traditions might he discredit among us?  Would we keep following him even though it angered our own leaders?  Would we follow when our social and economic lives were threatened?  Many of them were thrown out of the synagogues for their belief.

            If he walked among us today, would we follow everywhere as eagerly as Silas followed his granddad that afternoon, with a huge grin and an eager expression, hoping he would turn around and see us and welcome us into his open arms?  Or would we be so satisfied with where we are, or so caught up in things of this world that we would never even notice?
 
My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand, John 10:27,28.
 
Dene Ward

Beta blockers are wonderful things if you have high blood pressure.  They block the effects of the hormone epinephrine, which we usually call adrenaline.  In doing so they lower both your pulse and your blood pressure and open the blood vessels allowing blood to flow more easily, at least that is what the Mayo Clinic website tells me.

            I do not have high blood pressure.  I do have narrow angle glaucoma, complicated by severe nanophthalmus and a handful of other things, so I take four eye medications, several of which contain beta blockers to help lower eye pressure.  So, because my blood pressure is not high, it is now very low, as is my pulse.  High these days is 100/70 and it often runs 90/60 with an accompanying pulse no higher than 60—and that’s when I am excited.  It usually runs much lower than that.  In my recent bout with kidney stones, the alarm they hooked me up to in the ER kept going off because my pulse kept dropping to 40.  Even experienced nurses have difficulty finding my pulse and it often takes two or three tries to get any blood pressure reading.  I told Keith a few weeks ago, if I ever pass out, please make sure they call an ambulance instead of the coroner’s van.

            Needless to say, I do not have much energy these days.  I wear out quickly.  Doing anything in the evening when the usual weariness of the day compounds the problem is a major ordeal.  But do I mind?  Not on your life—I can still see well enough to function, something no one would have predicted 20 years ago.  But I do have to fight exhaustion constantly.

            Sometimes our spiritual vital signs sound an alarm to the people around us.  We may not notice, but they can see the flagging interest and sagging strength.  So I wondered what sort of spiritual beta-blockers we ought to be looking out for.

            The biggest may be distractions in our lives.  It is possible to be too busy—not with sinful things, but completely neutral things, maybe even good things.  Work, entertainment, exercise, travel, sports, the hours we spend on social media and keeping our eyes glued to a screen of some sort all rob us of time we could be spending on thoughtful meditation or  becoming more familiar with God’s word.  Shame on us, we do it to our children too, and often as yet another status symbol.  We enroll them in everything possible and rob them of their childhood by running them back and forth and driving them literally to exhaustion—not to mention the pressure on them to succeed in every single one of these activities.  Do children even know how to play anymore?  I remember having voice students nearly fall asleep standing up!

            Failure to communicate with God may be one of the biggest spiritual beta blockers.  How can we expect to know Him, to know how to please Him, to know why we should want to please Him, to know the direction He wants us to take when we ignore His Word and never speak to Him except at meals—if He’s lucky!  Of course our faith will weaken—our faith is in a Who not a what, and knowing that Who is absolutely necessary to keep from losing it.

            This one may sound a little strange, but bear with me.  Sometimes our busyness is not a busyness in worldly endeavors, it’s a busyness in good works, and even that busyness can weaken us. 

            In Twelve Extraordinary Women John MacArthur says, “It is a danger, even for people who love Christ, that we not become so concerned with doing things for Him that we begin to neglect hearing Him and remembering what He has done for us.  We must never allow our service for Christ to crowd out our worship of Him.  The moment our works become more important than our worship we have turned the true spiritual priorities on their heads…Whenever you elevate good deeds over sound doctrine and true worship, you ruin the works too.  Doing good works for the works’ sake has a tendency to exalt self and depreciate the work of Christ.  Good deeds, human charity, and acts of kindness are crucial expressions of real faith, but they must flow from a true reliance on God’s redemption and His righteousness…Observe any form of religion where good works are ranked as more important than authentic faith or sound doctrine and you’ll discover a system the denigrates Christ while unduly magnifying self.” 

            I have seen people literally work themselves to death for others, visiting, carrying food, taking the elderly to the doctor, cleaning houses and doing yard work and then when their lives take a tragic turn, fall completely apart.  In all their “doing” they had neglected to shore up their own faith with time for prayer, personal Bible study, and taking a real interest in the studies offered during the usual assembly times or extras on the side.  Their lack of theological understanding left them floundering for answers they had never taken the time to look for and learn, and then when they needed them, they had nothing lean on.

            And so in all these cases, the blood pressure plummets and the pulse fades and soon they may be gone.  I am sure you can think of other spiritual beta blockers.  Today, for your own good, look for them in your life.  How long has it been since you gave yourself a good shot of spiritual adrenaline—zeal? 
if you suffered a spiritual collapse, should we call an ambulance or a hearse?
 
…“Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Eph 5:14-16
 
Dene Ward

At 9 pm, Sunday night, October 8, 1871, a small fire started in the city of Chicago.  By Tuesday night, 73 miles of road, 120 miles of sidewalk, 2000 lampposts, 17,500 buildings, and nearly 4 sq mi of the city had been destroyed.  Property damages amounted to $222 million, and 90,000 of the city’s 300,000 residents were homeless.  A casualty count was never accurately determined but was estimated at 200 to 300. 
            Catherine O’Leary owned a small dairy at the fire’s origin.  It has become the stuff of legend and song that Mrs. O’Leary’s cow started the Great Chicago Fire when it kicked over a kerosene lamp during the evening milking.  The woman was even vilified in the Chicago Tribune.
            All these years later I was able to find articles that, with both facts and logic, exonerated Mrs. O’Leary.  The Chicago firemen were weary from fighting a Saturday night blaze.  Many had been without food and sleep for close to 24 hours.  The equipment was in poor condition because of that earlier fire, especially the hoses.  The wrong alarm box was sounded in the firehouse due to an inaccurate sighting, which delayed the arrival of the firefighters, and the man responsible for re-sounding the correct one when notified didn’t, “because they’ll find the right place when they get there.  It’s on the way.”  Evidently not.
            As for Mrs. O’Leary, she claimed that she and her husband had gone to bed and were unaware that a fire had started until it was too late.  Dairy owners rise well before daylight to take care of the morning milking, so that makes sense.  Evening milkings are done much earlier than 9 pm.  In fact, had she been in the barn it would have been a simple matter to have put out the small fire before it got out of hand, if indeed it was the accused cow that started it.  No one in the barn means no kerosene lamp.
            So what about arson?  Was the dairy failing?  Were their huge debts that a nice-sized insurance check would have covered?  That is a moot point because neither the barn, nor the cows, nor the supplies were insured.  Arson would have done them no good at all.  I am inclined to believe that Mrs. O’Leary was completely innocent.
            We, though, are not as innocent when we start fires.  Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasts great things. Behold how great a matter a little fire kindles!  James 3:5.  A small barn was the starting point for 4 sq miles of devastation.  Something as small as the tongue can start something just as devastating, that travels just as far and just as fast.  We once received a phone call from a friend 150 miles away asking if what he had heard about us was true.  We are grateful that he called and asked, because it was not true at all.  Thanks to a friend who cared enough to check, we were able to put out a fire that could have caused us much trouble and sorrow, perhaps ruining our reputations for life.
            Sometimes the statements we make are perfectly innocent, but we are not careful how they come out or who hears them.  Kerosene lamps, especially in the nineteenth century, were beneficial tools after all.  Yet all it would take was one moment of carelessness for an accident to bring about a catastrophe.  And so all it takes from us is one careless word, even one well-meant, to “set on fire the entire course of life,” James 3:6. 
            And then there are the arsonists who set those fires on purpose.  They like to see the fire, the confusion, the havoc they can wreak in the lives of others.  It fills them with a power they otherwise can’t feel, and that is why it is so satisfying to them.  Gossip can do exactly the same thing.  Repeating rumors, perhaps even embroidering them to the point that by the fourth or fifth telling there is little if any truth left in them, can be empowering.  Nothing ever happens to me, I am important to no one, but look at all the trouble I can cause anyway.  Arsonists often kill people when they engage in their crime.  Gossips are no better than those murderers when they commit “character assassination.”  
            Be careful out there today.  If one kerosene lamp can start a fire that nearly destroys a large city, one word can ruin a life.  Don’t be the one who knocks over the lamp or the one who adds to the flame by listening.
 
For lack of wood the fire goes out, and where there is no whisperer, quarreling ceases.  As charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire, so is a quarrelsome man for kindling strife, Prov 26:20.21.

 

Dene Ward
 

Being in the hospital is the pits.  My past two or three experiences have confirmed that.  They nearly gave me insulin once even though I am not diabetic.  If I had not spoken up and questioned the nurse, no telling what might have happened.  As she discovered, that shot was meant for my roommate. 
And speaking of roommates, you never know how that will turn out.  The last one I had was decidedly unfriendly.  After the nurses deposited me on the bed from the ER gurney, I reached across to pull back the curtain and introduce myself.

            “Don’t you dare open that curtain!  I want it shut!” screamed my companion of the next two days.  She then talked on her cell phone half the night and rang the call button every fifteen minutes.  I never did get a wink of sleep.

            Then there was the unexpected bath I received when the nurse, instead of pushing the meal tray out of the way, tried to reach across it to scan my bracelet.  She managed to upend the pitcher of ice water all over me and my umpteen stitches.

            And finally, the food, especially after surgery—broth, coffee, juice, and jello.  Yum, yum.  Barely 18 hours after being sliced from hither to yon, my breakfast was brought in, but I was alone and could not sit myself up.  The tray was barely at eye level.  I could only see things that stood up above its lip.  I saw a dark brown mug and a white one.  I tasted each and could not tell the difference, but it only made sense that the coffee would be in the dark brown one, so I drank a little of that.  One of my grandfathers used to say about weak coffee, “You could see a minnow a mile deep in it.”  That pretty well describes how that cupful tasted.

            Keith came in mid-morning and was there to help when the lunch tray arrived, identical to the breakfast tray except for an added glass of tea.  He reached down and picked up a packet, tore it open and sprinkled it in yet another dark brown mug.  “Here’s your broth,” he said as he handed it down to my level.

            Suddenly a bell rang in the back of my mind.  “When you came in did you see one of those packets on the breakfast tray?”  Yes, it turns out he had.  What I had been drinking was the hot water meant for that packet of instant bouillon, which I had been too low to see.  No wonder the “coffee” tasted so weak.

            Sometimes we settle for hospital broth for our souls.  Modern philosophies, sectarian –isms, and various “spiritual” folderols fill our hearts and our minds with about as much nourishment as a mug of hot water.  Yet our spirits obviously hunger for that type of guidance, or why would those things appeal to so many? 

            The Word of God is there for us, meat for our souls, and sustenance for our lives.  Is it too strong to suit us?  Does it burn a little going down?  That’s what happens when you get real food instead of pap.  Sometimes you have to work a little harder at chewing, and a lot harder at digesting, but the nourishment is far greater than anything man has to offer.

            We have ample evidence that God’s word is real, that it was written not by fallible men but by writers inspired by the Holy Spirit to write the words of God.  No other book has ever passed such difficult tests of authenticity as it has. If you want to study those things, I can give you the names of books and authors that will satisfy you in that regard--if you have not already decided not to be satisfied.  For many the Bible is too ordinary, too sensible, not fanciful enough to satisfy their vision of spiritual fulfillment.

            Another reason people want to dismiss the Bible is that it calls them to accountability.  If this is the Truth, I must answer to a Creator for how I have conducted my life.  So many want a belief system that lets them be God by allowing them to decide how they should live, but even they, if they are honest with themselves, eventually see the fallacy in that.  We cannot see above the lip of the hospital tray.  We need someone whose perspective is farther reaching to tell us which road to take, someone who can see the bouillon packet and tell us about it, someone like a God who loves us and only wants what is best for us. 

            Take a good long drink from the Word of God today, and really start to live.
 
Ho, every one that thirsts, come to the waters, and he that has no money; come buy, and eat; yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for that which is not bread and your labor for that which satisfies not? Listen diligently unto me, and eat that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Incline your ear, and come unto me; hear, and your soul shall live: and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David, Isa 55:1-3.
 
Dene Ward

Another in a continuing series.  See the right sidebar under "music" for other articles.

It was not my favorite song as a child.  I imagine that had a lot to do with how slowly we sang it.  At that pace nothing was sweet.  I just wanted to get it over with.  But as you mature in Christ I would hope that the title alone would thrill you.  Being able to talk to God whenever we need to or simply want to is a blessing beyond compare.  “Sweet” hardly seems to do it justice.

            The poet, William Walford, was blind.  He sat most of the day whittling—usually small commonplace tools like shoehorns—but as he sat, his mind composed both poems and sermons.  He could quote copious amounts of scripture, a necessity due to his blindness.  Being that familiar with the Bible meant his poems were full of references to scriptures that some of us might have difficulty recalling.  Let that be one lesson for us today:  do not discard a song because you do not know what it means.  Instead, learn what it means by studying the Word of God more. 

            The first three verses contain allusions or near quotes of a dozen different passages, not counting the ones that are repeated many, many times in the Bible.  Then there is the fourth verse.  Some of the modern hymn collections, if they choose to use this old-fashioned, musically straightforward (which they consider “boring”) hymn at all, leave out the fourth verse.  Why?  I am afraid my cynical mind says that due to the woefully shallow “praise songs” we are growing accustomed to, they can no longer think deeply enough to comprehend it.  Then there is that small reference to a passage in the Pentateuch they probably never even read before.  See what you think.

Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!
May I thy consolation share,
Till, from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height,
I view my home and take my flight:
This robe of flesh I’ll drop and rise
To seize the everlasting prize;
And shout, while passing through the air,
“Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer!”

Please tell me you do know what and where Mt Pisgah is and why I should be able to see my home from there. 

            And Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho. And the LORD shewed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, Deut 34:1. 

            Just before his death, God allowed Moses to view the Promised Land from the top of Mount Pisgah.  He could not go into the land because of his earlier disobedience, but God took pity on his old soldier and let him take a peek.

            And us?  At our deaths we stand symbolically on Mt Pisgah, viewing the place Abraham and the faithful of the Old Testament looked at “from afar off.”  But we do get to go into the Promised Land, the spiritual fulfillment of that piece of covenant ground from millennia ago.  We will drop “this robe of flesh” for a “spiritual body,” and head for the land “whose builder and maker is God.”  We will “pass through through the air” to “meet the Lord,” and surely it will be with a shout of joy.

            And when we arrive we will no longer need this “Sweet Hour of Prayer.”  We will no longer have “distress and grief.”  We will no longer be “tempted by the snares of the Devil.”  Our spirits will no longer “burn for his return.”  We will no longer have cares to “cast on him.”  We will be where our God is.  We will see his face and be able to talk to Him any time we want. 

           “Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer.”
 
Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Phil 4:6-7
 
Dene Ward

We started last winter with a nearly empty woodpile—not a good thing when you depend on wood heat, even in Florida.  So Keith has spent several weekends cutting deadfall from friends’ and neighbors’ property.  Since he no longer has the live-in help he had for 20 years, it has taken him far longer than ever before.  Do you want to know how he stays in such good shape?  Just rely on your own brawn to heat the house one winter and you will see why he can still outwork most men half his age.  Once he cuts it and hauls it back to the house, he still has to split it.  Even working a little every evening after he comes home from work, much remains to be done, and he hasn’t even started stacking it on the racks.        

            So I decided to help out.  I work a half hour several mornings a week, moving the wood to the first rack.  Much more and I might be endangering what little health is left in my eyes due to bending over and lifting.  Seasoned wood is fairly light and, in two months, a little at a time—in this case, very little--I have managed to safely move several stacks of wood to the first rack.  It also gives me a little outdoor time with the dogs, and a little more exercise than an elliptical machine.

            Yet I could have moved much more in the same amount of time if I had not had to be so careful.  Real wood from real trees is not perfectly shaped and sized.  It has knots, it has stubs from limbs chopped off, and it is often curved at odd angles.  When I put a log on the stack, I have to carefully push on it, moving my hand sidewise to see if anything will cause it to shift.  The last thing you want is for the whole pile to fall down on you when you take one log off the top.  It is almost like putting together a puzzle, finding just the right piece to fit in the spot the last couple of logs made, but because it could be dangerous to be careless, you take the time to do it right.

            That’s the way it is when God fits us all into his church.  None of us is perfect by any means.  None of us will suit everyone’s notion of the ideal Christian.  Some of us have knots.  Most of us have stubs where we cut off our past sins.  Yet God expects us to fit ourselves in, to fit each other in, no matter what we think of each other.

            Surely none of us has had a Saul walk into his meetinghouse to “place membership.”  This was a man who laid waste the church, entering into every house, and dragging men and women… to prison Acts 8:3.  He both shut up many of the saints in prisons, having received authority from the chief priests, and when they were put to death… gave [his] vote against them, Acts 26:10.  He persecuted the church of God, and made havoc of it, Gal 1:13.  Maybe you can, but I cannot say I would have easily accepted him if my family were among the tortured and dead.  It would have taken a lot of faith, a lot of strength, and a lot of help from others for me to hug the new Christian and welcome him with open arms.  It would have taken someone like Barnabas to get me past it.  And when he was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join himself to the disciples: and they were all afraid of him, not believing that he was a disciple. But Barnabas took him, and brought him to the apostles, and declared unto them how he had seen the Lord in the way, and that he had spoken to him, and how at Damascus he had preached boldly in the name of Jesus, Acts 9:26,27. 

            We look at those people who managed to accept a former enemy, and not only accept him, but support him and his work, and for some reason we cannot accept a man because we don’t like his sense of humor?  Because we think he is a little rough around the edges?  We cannot accept a woman because she doesn’t have our definition of “class?”  Because she has an odd belief or two?  God expects us to accept one another.  He is the one who adds to the church, not we.  Maybe we need to carefully fit people in, finding mentors who can help, just as Barnabas helped Saul, but that doesn’t mean we just ignore new Christians because they don’t suit our standards. 

            Paul told the Roman brethren, May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God, Rom 15:5-7.  I think it is strongly implied that if we do not welcome each other, God will not welcome us either.

            God is stacking his wood pile, carefully fitting each of us into the places where we belong.  We do not have a choice who our spiritual family is.  We must learn to ignore things that rub us the wrong way, instead of assuming the Divine role of deciding who can and cannot be our brother. God expects us to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, perhaps for us to even lop off a corner to make another fit.  He accepted us that way, and every brother deserves that consideration from us.
 
I am a companion of all who fear you, and of those who keep your precepts, Psa 119:63.
 
Dene Ward

I went on my first diet when I was 13.  I lost 15 pounds in two months. I ate so many boiled eggs it’s a wonder I didn’t start cackling.  That was just the beginning.  I bet in my lifetime I have lost a whole person—maybe two. 
For a while I had it under control—I had begun to jog 30 miles a week, and the weight melted off—thirty pounds in 6 months and though a few pounds came back on when I started eating like a human being again and had to cut it down to 20 miles a week due to an increasing load in the studio, I settled into a comfortable weight that stayed that way until my feet gave out on me and two surgeries made jogging impossible.  When I could no longer maintain the new lifestyle, the weight came back on.

            And isn’t that the reason we lose new converts?  Instead of carefully maintaining our contact with them, teaching them, encouraging them, spending time with them one on one and in small groups as well as expecting them to attend the services, we think we’ve “got them” and do nothing.  Especially if these folks have come from a background completely alien to “church,” they will need constant help maintaining their faith.  They will need brothers and sisters to help them change their lifestyles just like I had to find the time for jogging and keep a strict diet too if I were going to maintain my weight loss.  Once I went back, even a little, to the old lifestyle, the weight came back on, and once they go back to their lifestyles, that first excitement will wane and there they go—right back down the road they walked before.  After all, they had walked it a whole lot longer than the new one.

            You know why this happens?  Because we are too busy to spend the time taking care of them.  We do not want to be bothered.  Why, we have lives too, you know.  Is that what we said when we brought a new life into this physical world?  Did we tell our newborns we didn’t have time to feed them, to change them, to get up at all hours in the night to take care of them?  If we had, we would have been no different that the ancient Romans who used to put unwanted babies out on the trash pile.  Infanticide we would call it now.

            And every time we let a new convert slip through the cracks because no one cares enough to spend the time it takes to nurture them along, we are guilty of spiritual infanticide.  Changing your lifestyle is hard.  We need to love these young souls enough to help them with the process.  Gaining back unwanted weight is not nearly so dangerous as gaining back an unholy lifestyle.
 
We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, “The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me.” Rom 15:1-3                                                                                                                   

Dene Ward