We recently discovered a new wildflower, a fifteen foot long vine with delicate, featherlike leaves, and bright red tubular blooms with a star-shaped flare.  Keith brought some home from the woods and stuck them in several plastic nursery pots.  Now, several weeks later, they are doing just fine.  When I looked them up and found their name, Cypress Vine, I also discovered that they are often sold as garden annuals under the name Red Morning Glory, but that they proved so hardy they have spread to the wild, including the wild just across my fence.
 
           Hardy indeed when all you have to do is take a cutting, stick it in the dirt, and water it until it roots.  Not every plant is so easy.  Sometimes you must root them in water.  Sometimes you must get a product like Rootone, dipping the ends of the cutting into that powder before you try to root it.  But all transplants have this in common—they deserve special care.  Transplant shock can claim even the strongest of specimens without it.

            The same is true when we convert a sinner to the gospel.  Transplanting him from a world of sin to the rarefied air of the redeemed can be more than his system can handle.  So he needs special care.  Too many times I have seen churches baptize a man then say, “Whew!  Now he’s okay,” and leave him standing in the midst of surroundings so alien to him that he withers and dies almost immediately.  It may not seem alien to us, but we are used to it.  We took root many years ago and now we stand strong and able to endure temptations, trials, and even the mere tedium of life.  Why do we expect a cutting from the world to instantly take root and blossom?  We treat our garden flowers far better than our new brethren.

            Even a cutting described as “hardy” needs daily attention.  I expect my Cypress vines to bloom vigorously this time next year.  But I don’t expect them to suddenly grow to their usual fifteen feet covered with flaming red flowers before then.  Why are we so impatient with our new brothers and sisters in the Lord?  It is worth it to take the time with them, nurturing their growth as we would our own gardens, so that we can bask in their beauty just a little while down the road. 

            Agriculture is hard work.  Jesus talked about laborers in his vineyard, not people simply strolling through, taking the tour so they could have a free wine tasting at the end.  You don’t get to taste his wine when you don’t work to care for his grapes.
 
Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, "Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Isa 35:3,4.
 
Dene Ward

And now we head east along the final, the north side of the property.  We used to drive in that way, straight down the drive and across the top of the property to the front door. That was before we had a summer so wet we kept getting stuck halfway up our hubcaps.  Somewhere along that north side is a spring that only appears during wet season and a neighbor had to pull us out of it with his tractor several times before we finally cleared a higher road we could count on that comes to the back door instead of the front.  I keep telling people I would never put my washer and dryer in my foyer, but few seem to get it.

            That wet weather helped us discover another problem.  The property directly north of us drained all over us.  We are on a slight grade, one you hardly notice until a summer downpour comes washing down from the neighboring land.  I will never forget the day I stood at the front door and watched a six inch deep torrent rush under the house, then raced to the opposite windows to see it come churning out.  I knew we were in big trouble.  The summer rains had barely begun and we were also in the middle of hurricane season.  In short order we would be washed away.

            We have a law, at least here in Florida, which says you are responsible for what your property does to neighboring property.  One of the neighbors found out the hard way when they did something on their property that left a neighbor in an undrainable, and undrivable, swamp.  The ones who caused the situation refused to fix it.  “It’s not our problem,” they said. The neighbors who could no longer access their home had to call the sheriff, who sent out deputies to make sure they had the mess they made repaired so their neighbors could once again get in and out of their land.

            The owners of the land just north of us, people who had bought it as an investment and did not live there, knew about that law, too.  All we had to do was make a phone call, and they sent out the equipment to dig a ditch along that north side that led straight to the run on the east where we started this walk, so their land could drain around us instead of through us.  Yes, it was a law, but at least we didn’t have to call the sheriff to get them to act.  In fact, they were quite nice about it and did not leave until they were certain we were satisfied.

            God has a law too.  It goes like this:  ​“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea. Mark 9:42.  Paul spent a couple of chapters in both Romans (14) and 1 Corinthians (8) telling us the same thing.  Everything we do has an influence on people who see or hear us, whether we know they see or hear us or not. 

            I’ve heard people say things like, “I can do whatever I want to do.  That’s his/her problem.”  No, it isn’t.  It’s your problem when you want to claim to be a disciple of Jesus but do not follow his example.  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.

            We influence people for good or ill by what we wear, how we speak, how we react to others, especially the unkindness of others, and any number of other things. God expects us to be aware of how our speech and behavior effects the world, and not only that, to care.

            Wouldn’t it be a shame if they had to call “the Sheriff” on us?
 
So then each of us will give an account of himself to God. Therefore let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother. Rom 14:12-13.
 
Dene Ward

We have reached the northwest corner where the gate opens onto our property and leads guests down a narrow drive, past the wild corner, a shady field, the grapevines, the jasmine, and between two azaleas that stand as sentries to our yard.

            Thirty years ago we didn’t have a gate, or a fence to attach it to.  The titles on the land parcels back here off the highway were not free and clear, except for ours, so our boys grew up wandering over twenty acres in every direction.  They swam in the run and climbed trees in the groves that now stand on other properties.  They hunted and explored, and we cut our Christmas trees from the uninhabited woods around us.

            Then the titles were cleared up and people began buying and moving in.  Suddenly we had to deal with neighboring cows breaking through their fences and wandering our way to find good grass to eat, with pot-bellied pigs rooting in our garden, with donkeys braying loudly outside our windows, and packs of stray dogs terrorizing ours.  So we scraped up the money we had been saving over the years and put in a fence, with the gate at the road we had driven down long before anyone even knew there was a road there.  Now we can protect what is ours from wandering livestock, and the lock on the chain is especially nice during political season.

            The gate is a two-banger.  The larger portion is a standard cow panel, 16 feet wide.  But that isn’t enough space for a tractor pulling a cultivator and sprayer, which an old friend used to plow and treat our garden once a year.  So right next to the larger gate is a smaller one that adds 4 feet and just enough room for the equipment to come through.

            Jesus had some things to say about wide gates and narrow gates.   One thing I have noticed about wider gates.  It isn’t just that more people can get through them.  It’s that they can get through quickly.  Narrow gates stay that way because they are seldom used, and when you see one, the very smallness of it makes you hang back and consider.  Maybe you’ll poke your head through trying to make out what’s down there, but it still takes considerable thought before you will go down a place that not only few go, but they don’t go quickly.

            Wide gates on the other hand?  People go through them in a headlong rush simply because everyone else does.  Someone famous wears a certain color and before two weeks have passed everyone is wearing it.  A celebrity eats at a certain restaurant and the next week there is a line a mile long.  Someone posts a video on facebook and it goes “viral.”  As soon as anything gets approval from a popular source, people can’t get enough fast enough.  It’s a mania, a craze.  Would you look at those words a minute?  No thinking at all involved in those words, unless you classify insanity as a thought process.  Jesus, on the other hand, expects his disciples to be thinkers.

            Star Trek always starts with a prologue ending in these words:  to boldly go where no one has gone before.  Isn’t that what Christianity is supposed to be?  Except for this one, critical, factor:  someone has gone before us.  He tells us that yes, it’s safe, at least in an eternal sense, and yes, you can do it too.  The gate may be narrow and seldom entered, but that is what makes us special, something besides robots in a cookie cutter world. 

            Today take a moment to think before you choose.  A quiet stroll with the Lord in a narrow shady lane may be just what your soul needs. 
 
​“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few. Matt 7:13-14.
 
Dene Ward

About two-thirds of the way across the south side of the property, the path cuts across diagonally to the west side.  This avoids the wooded, tangled corner we have left that way for the wildlife—at least until all the townies moved out.  That corner used to be a habitat for deer, turkeys, quail, foxes, armadillos, and warrens of rabbits, along with a bobcat or two passing through.  The quail and the foxes have disappeared, the rabbits have thinned out—if you can imagine such a thing—and about all we have left are the occasional turkey and deer.  I suppose nothing will ever rid us of the armadillos and possums.

            On the inside of that section where the cut-off turns north to the driveway, stands four live oaks all growing out of the same spot.  I am not certain if it is one huge tree with four large trunks or four smaller trees that have finally grown into one.  Lucas and Nathan called it “the fort.”  Growing up they played in, on, and around it.  You can climb up between the trees on a sort of ledge that hooks them together, and climb my little guys did. 

          The “fort” was not always a fort.  Sometimes it was a castle, sometimes it was a spaceship, sometimes it was a hideout, but it was always a source of imaginative entertainment for little boys who didn’t have a whole lot else except sticks and roots shaped like pistols, rifles, ray guns, phasers, and bazookas—at least to them.

            This past year Silas and Judah finally reached the age that they could enjoy the fort.  Uncle Lucas got them started, showing them how to turn ordinary bark, sticks, and tree knots into weapons, controls, and push buttons.  Now they clamber all over that same clump of giant oak trees, grown even closer together now that they are older, with even more ledges and platforms to stand on and jump off.  It feels good to walk by that old favorite spot of my boys and know that a new generation is enjoying it too.

            This will probably be the last generation of Wards to know the magic of that special spot.  Neither of the boys is in a position to move back to this acreage and we will probably reach a point where we can no longer take care of it before the new generation even grows to adulthood.  We will need the money it brings to buy us a smaller, easier place to live. 

            Think about that the next time you assemble with your brethren.  I don’t mean think about how the next generation will use the building or whether they will understand the sacrifices made to build it, the men who made it their business to watch over the construction, the women who furnished the classrooms and dolled up the restrooms the way men would never even think to.  Think about what goes on in that building.  When all of the older generation is gone, the ones who fought the battles and stood for truth no matter how unpopular it was, will the younger generation even know what that truth is?  Will they understand the thought processes that produced a generation of faithful men and women?     

          Maybe some other family will someday own our land and figure out what that group of live oaks “really” is even with no one to tell them, but somehow I doubt that a generation so used to the here and now of social media and the pizzazz of loud, splashy entertainment that leaves no room for imagination will even have a clue.  Tell them it’s a spaceship and they will likely look at you like you’re nuts.

          Far more important is to be able to tell the next generation of Christians that “this”—whatever this is at the moment—is truth, and have them comprehend its importance.
 
You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus, and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also. 2Tim 2:1-2
 
Dene Ward

When we hit the corner we turn right along the south fence, just behind the old pigpen.  We haven’t had pigs since the boys left home—it would take the two of us a couple of years to go through a whole pig, but with teen-aged boys we managed easily in just a few months.  Pork chops, ribs, hams, sausage, bacon, bacon, and more bacon.  They grew up pork lovers and are to this day.
Yes, we named our pigs.  We always called the males Hamlet, and the females Baconette, except the year we had two boys and the extra one we named Ribster.  It reminded us from the beginning why we had them, and trust me—by the time a pig is ready for slaughter it isn’t cute any longer.  It is about as disgusting a creature as you can imagine.  Slaughtering it was never a problem.  The boys understood early on that we needed these animals to survive and respected them for it.

          Just across the south fence and past the pigpen stands a live oak grove, a peaceful shady retreat we often wished had been on our property instead of the neighbor’s.  He has built a fire ring surrounded by several chairs, with a wood rack between two trees.  He planned outings with his children and cook-outs with his friends and quiet evenings with his wife.  He planted some Australian cypresses along the fence and now, after nearly ten years, they finally conceal his leafy sanctuary, a sanctuary he rarely visits any longer because his children are grown and living hundreds of miles away with all of his grandchildren.  I doubt he used his beautiful spot more than half a dozen times.  His wife passed unexpectedly several years ago. He has rebuffed friendly overtures and declined invitations to church.  We seldom see him any longer, and there hasn’t been even a lonely fire in the fire ring for three or four years.  So much for great plans.
           
          Chloe and I walk along that line of cypresses, peeking through the limbs sometimes, but usually watching the bottom of the fence line instead.  Up ahead of me as usual, Chloe will occasionally stop and sniff around and when I reach her, sure enough, there is a depression in the ground where something slid under the fence during the night.  Possums, coons, foxes, terrapins, sometimes we come across them during the day, but usually not.  The depressions are well worn and even if we fill up the hole, it will be back with a couple of days, or a new one will show up just a few feet down the fence line.  Interlopers will always find a way, and I can always tell from Chloe’s attention and sniff pattern whether something more dangerous has slunk under or not.

            That’s exactly why God gave us elders, because “fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock” Acts 20:29.  Peter warns about false teachers who will infiltrate with “destructive heresies” 1 Pet 2:1.  Jesus himself warned about “false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” Matt 7:15.  Let me tell you, sheep are just as stupid as pigs are disgusting.  We are too easily led astray, and once they get us away from our shepherds we are just as easily eaten up.

            Our shepherds have a difficult job.  They deserve our respect.  They spend all hours of the day and night protecting us from things we do not even recognize as dangerous.  Like Chloe, they see potential problems we in our ignorance and inexperience miss and all they get for it is accusations about traditionalism, legalism, and cynicism.  We can make their job easier by spending more time in the word so we can recognize false teaching; more time with our brethren so we can share practical knowledge; and more time in safe places instead of hanging around the fence line in the dark of night where the wolves are waiting.
 
Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world. 1 John 4:1
 
Dene Ward

Keith has mown a path for me, as safe as a path can be for someone with my eyesight, so I can walk Chloe at least one lap every day with the trekking poles for balance and stability.  Elliptical machines are great for low impact aerobics, but you don’t get any fresh air and the scenery never changes.  With this path I get the best of both.  Let me take you for a stroll this morning, and every morning this week, beginning with the east side.

            When I come out and slip on my walking shoes, Chloe, always waiting expectantly under the porch, bounces out and sits impatiently on the steps, her ears tall and her eyes never leaving me.  “Just a minute,” I tell her, and she seems to have grown to recognize those sounds.  She knows I will indeed be outside shortly, but I wonder if her doggy brain wonders about people having to put on their feet before they come outside?  Sometimes she cannot abide the wait, especially if I have to do more than put on my shoes—like spot Keith as he lifts weights on the other end of the porch—so she gives just a tiny little whine, so anxious she shimmies across the boards on her rear end. 

            As soon as I open the door she is halfway through it.  We cannot go anywhere or do anything until she gets a pat on the head.  Then I say, “Let’s go walk,” and she heads toward the morning sun peeking through the woods, dappling the ground where we walk.  Often she has to stop and wait for me to catch up, but as soon as I round that first corner she is off again, inspecting every mound of dirt, every dew-heavy hanging shrub, every disturbed pile of leaves at the fence bottom.

           Occasionally she will stop and stare through the fence to the property on the other side, heavily wooded, vines snaking up and through the oaks, pines, maples, and wild cherries.  Just over the fence lies the run.  We thought it was a creek when we first moved here, a shallow one but water always sat in the bottom, slowly draining to the south.  Then we went through the drought of the nineties and learned differently.  It’s a run.  Whenever rain comes through, the land on all sides of us for at least a half mile in every direction, runs into that narrow, deep channel and heads for the swamp a mile to the south.  After a typical summer afternoon downpour the water will rush loudly, white water at the bends and at every drop, carrying with it leaves and limbs shed by the overhanging branches. 

          You do not realize how powerful water moving downhill can be until you see the aftermath.  We came out one morning to find the trash can washed up against the south fence, the run itself clear of all debris, and the pigs in the southeastern pigpen a pinky white they hadn’t been since they were born.  Only a small circle in the center of their backs remained black and muddy.  Good thing they managed to find a high spot so they could get their noses up out of the rushing water that had gushed through the fence and cut the southeast corner.  We had no idea the water could rise that high.

          The power of water is a constant theme in the Bible.  We completely misunderstand 1 Pet 3:20,21, especially when we read the newer translations that make water not something that saves, but something to be saved from.  Leave your new version a moment and look at the old ASV translation:   …the longsuffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, wherein few, that is, eight souls, were saved through water: which also after a true likeness doth now save you, even baptism…  The waters of the flood saved Noah by bringing him and his family safely out of a world of sin, into a new world, one that was washed pure and clean.  Baptism does the same for us.  It saves us from the world of sin we live in, raising us to a new life free from sin—a chance to start over, this time with help from above.  It also washes away the detritus of our old lives, if we let it, if we are willing to let go of the baggage and surrender all to the Lord.

           Water had saved the Israelites in a similar way.  They were “baptized” in the cloud and in the sea, walls of water on the side, a roof of vapor overhead. And then with a whoosh of water, God destroyed their enemies and set them in a new world, one where He and they were to enjoy a covenant relationship, 1 Cor 10:1ff.
         
          Amos uses water to symbolize the power found in justice and righteousness.  Israel thought that multiplying sacrifices and feasts and other religious observances was all that mattered.  God would be pleased, especially if the prescribed rites were even more elaborate than commanded.  Then their lives during the rest of the week wouldn’t count against them.  The prophet told them differently, “Let justice roll down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream,” 5:24.
          That is just a small sample of the passages using water as a symbol.  Spend some time today, as I did on my walk with Chloe, meditating on the simplest drink known to man.
 
Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for Jehovah, even Jehovah, is my strength and song; and he is become my salvation. Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation. And in that day shall ye say, Give thanks unto Jehovah…Isa 12:2-4
 
Dene Ward

On April 2, 1931, Jackie Mitchell, a seventeen year old rookie with the Southern Association’s AA Chattanooga Lookouts, was put on the mound in relief when the Yankees stopped by for an exhibition game on the way home from spring training. 

            The first batter to face Mitchell was Babe Ruth.  The rookie pitched a ball.  Then came a swing and a miss, twice.  The next pitch was a called strike.  In four pitches the teenager had struck out Babe Ruth.

            Next up was Lou Gehrig—three swings and three misses—OUT. 

            Did I mention that Jackie was a girl?

            Before the game Ruth had commented:  “[Women] will never make good [in baseball].  Why?  Because they’re too delicate.  It will kill them to play every day.”  Then he and his fellow future Hall-of-Famer were promptly struck out by a woman, and a teenage rookie at that.

            And when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he disdained him for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and withal of fair countenance.  And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog that you come to me with staves?  And the Philistine cursed David by his gods, 1 Sam 17:42,43.

            Goliath had the same problem Babe Ruth did.  He thought he was invincible.  Certainly a young, inexperienced teenager couldn’t beat him.  Even some of God’s own people thought the same, especially David’s brothers.  “What are you doing here, you little twerp?  You left your work just to come watch the battle, didn’t you?”

            We say all the time that we have faith, that we know God can handle anything.  Yet when we see God’s methods, we instantly doubt.  “This can’t be right.  It’ll never work.”  We find ourselves standing with the Jews who rejected our Lord.  “Who does he think he is?  He’s just the carpenter’s son.  This is God’s idea of a king?” 

            What kinds of giants are you attempting to slay in your life?  Anger, depression, addiction, foul language, a persistent sin that it seems you can never control?  Are you in the middle of a painful and debilitating illness?  Have you lost someone close to you, someone you are not sure you can live without?  Has a long persistent trial depleted you of spiritual energy?  If a teenage rookie can strike out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig back to back, something God doesn’t even care about, much less would intervene in, why can’t I strike out the problems that beset me when the Almighty God has promised to help me do just that? 

            How many times has God conquered a nation with just a handful?  Review today the stories of Gideon, of Jonathan and his armor bearer, of the angel of the Lord who struck down 180,000 Assyrians in one night to save the besieged nation of Judah.  Think about Esther who saved an entire race of people without a miracle, about Jehosheba who thwarted a massacre by stealing a baby away in the night thus saving the Messianic dynasty from the pollution of Ahab’s sin.  Remember the many parents who raised children in faith, children who grew up to save countless numbers with their preaching—Zacharias and Elizabeth, Eunice, Mary of Jerusalem, and of course, Mary and Joseph, insignificant people making a more than significant impact because they trusted God to help them.

            God can accomplish anything He wants to accomplish, any way He wants to accomplish it.  If I think otherwise, I might very well be keeping Him from accomplishing something wonderful through me.  Open your heart this morning.  Un-tether your faith from thoughts of impossibilities, and fasten on to a God who knows no limits. 
 
And Asa cried unto Jehovah his God and said, Jehovah, there is none besides you to help, between the mighty and him that has no strength.  Help us, O Jehovah our God, for we rely on you and in your name are we come against this multitude. O Jehovah, you are our God, let no man prevail against you, 2 Chron 14:11.
 
Dene Ward

But solid food is for full-grown men, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil, Heb 5:14.
 
            I was amazed to find out that “full-grown” is more often translated “perfect,” at least in the ASV.  That is ironic to me, because while I will quickly say, “I am not perfect,” I would find myself a little miffed if I were called “spiritually immature.”  At my age?  Surely I am a mature Christian by now.
            So I looked up that Greek word and the places it is translated “perfect.”  It quickly became apparent that the word does not mean “sinless.”  While we understand that the meaning of a word varies according to its context in English, we seem to forget that when it comes to reading the Bible and talking about those Hebrew and Greek words.  Yet, in any language, the meaning of a word is limited by its use.  And so I read “mature” in every passage I found that word translated “perfect,” and found out how to recognize a mature Christian. [When you read all these passages, be sure to read “spiritually mature” every time you see “perfect.”]
            The maturity level of a Christian is shown by how he treats his enemies (Matt 5:43-48), by how he controls his tongue (James 3:2), by how attached he is to his earthly possessions (Matt 19:21).  A mature Christian is not easily deceived, not changeable from day to day, and speaks from a motivation of love, even when correcting someone, not from a desire for revenge, or from a feeling of arrogance, and certainly not to cause controversy for the sake of controversy (Eph 4:13-15).  A mature Christian will endure, (James 1:4), and in fact, stand fully assured of his salvation (Col 4:12).  When I look at those characteristics I can see that I have a way to go before I finally grow up, but at least I have some detailed areas to work on now instead of blindly aiming for some sort of vague idea of maturity or perfection.
            One of the residents at the medical school recently told me that I did not look as old as my chart said I was.  That was a nice moment in the day, one totally unexpected.  Wouldn’t if be awful though, if he had said that I didn’t act as old as I was?  That is where the test comes—not in how long I have been a Christian, but in how much I have grown as one.
 
So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us.  God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love [made mature] with us, that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world, 1 John 4:16,17.
           
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

Or, in the words of Jesus, “Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.”

Seems to me that we have blunted the meaning of, “REPENT!” with all sorts of rationalizations:
“That is just the way I am,”
“I am doing the best I can and one’s best is all that God requires,”
“Overall, I am walking in the light, I just have this one problem.”

Repent means change. It does not mean doing the thing less often. A thief does not repent by only holding up 1 store a month instead of 1 a day. Overall, our approach denies the “power of godliness” to change one completely.

We have substituted the power of a magic partaking of the Lord’s Supper for repentance. We seem to believe that if we really think really hard about Jesus’ sacrifice while we partake, and pray hard and feel real, real sorry for our failings (lets not use that 3 letter “S” word), then we will be OK. But, then we did that last week, and the week before and….
 
And we continue in the same sinful habits, maybe less often: “I’m getting better!”

Sounds a lot like 2 Cor 7, doesn’t it, where Paul contrasts this with the godly sorrow that works repentance and calls it a sorrow of the world that leads to death.

One may slip and fall after he repents, may even do so more than once. But, repentance means one stops the wrong behavior. God gives us the power to do so, the power of Christ in us, the hope of Glory. We, on the other hand, keep one foot in the pleasures and proclaim, “I am making progress.”

JUST SAY NO.
 
STOP!
 
OR PERISH.
 
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.  (2Cor 7:11).
Do you not know that if you yield yourselves to any one as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness? (Rom 6:16)                                                           
Keith Ward

My boys survived on hand-me-downs, including hand-me-down toys.  An acquaintance gave us one of those molded plastic “rocking horses” that hang suspended by four large springs on a tubular steel frame.  The boys were so young we had to hold them on it at first, but before long they could mount it and ride on their own, the steady, groaning sproing, sproing, sproing reaching my ears as I worked in the kitchen.  As they grew older and gained experience with western heroes, particularly a certain Texas Ranger who wore a mask, I often heard shouts of, “Giddy-up,” “Whoa,” and finally, “Hi-yo Silver, awaaaaaay!”

            In their active little minds they traveled everywhere on that horse, despite the fact that they never left the room.  Sometimes we have the same problem.

            I have seen good, sincere, faithful Christians hamstring themselves by riding a certain hobby nearly to death.  No matter what subject comes up, they can finagle it around to their favorite topic.  After awhile you learn to avoid certain words that function like detonators on a land mine.  We often accuse preachers of this problem, but it can happen to us just as easily, not only about topics, but about people too.

            When you can only focus on the aggravating things about a person, you fail to see the good in them.  When all you can see are the annoyances in the church, you fail to gain the encouragement you need from the assembling together of a spiritual family.  When one pet peeve is all you see in any passage of scripture, you fail to see the things you yourself need in order to grow and improve.  Obsession can rob you of any influence you might otherwise have because everyone will just say, “There s/he goes again,” automatically dismissing anything you say.

            It is even worse when the thing the “equestrian” goes on about is actually a good and right thing.  He simply makes more of it than it deserves because to him it has become a holy grail.  He can make it seem that anyone who does not share his opinion has some sort of deep-seeded problem with a) love; b) authority; c) faithfulness; d) all of the above, choose whatever fits the occasion.  So division often occurs, if not in fact, then in spirit, because in his arrogance he believes that this “thing” is the root of every other problem we might possibly have and important enough to cause a fuss about.

            The rider may think he sees better than others, but all he is seeing is one tiny corner of the Word, while the rest remains hidden behind his self-imposed blinders.  He may think he is enjoying an amazing ride on a marvelous steed, but he is sitting on a swayback nag in the middle of a field, going nowhere.  At least the children eventually get off the horse. 

            It is a whole lot easier to get on the horse than to get off it.  Sometimes we don’t even realize that is what we have done.  Do you need to get off yours and take a new look around?  It might surprise you how far you have not come—but it’s the first necessary step to going farther.
 
Of these things put them in remembrance, charging them in the sight of the Lord, that they strive not about words, to no profit, to the subverting of those who hear.  Give diligence to present yourself approved unto God, a workman who does not need to be ashamed, handling aright the word of truth. 2 Tim 2:14,15.
 
Dene Ward