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Parts of Speech

10/13/2014 0 Comments

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I came across a reference to a Stephen Crane short story in which he stated that a certain character was not even a noun, but only an adverb. I have never read that story, so I found myself pondering what in the world he must have meant by that. My mind wandered all over, eventually to spiritual matters. How could one be an adverb instead of a noun?

Then it struck me. What is it the apostle John says of God? Not that He acts lovingly, but that He is love. It is one thing to act in a loving manner on occasion, and quite another to be the very embodiment of love.

If someone said of me that I had acted rudely, I would hope it was a momentary lapse in my usual behavior. However, if someone said I was rudeness personified, it would mean that courtesy was a momentary lapse; that my habit was to behave rudely in practically every situation. One is a stronger accusation than the other by far. You can apologize for one. The other requires a complete change in character.

If someone called you a Scrooge, you would instantly understand that they think you are greedy and miserly. The Bible uses similar language when it uses terms like “sons of disobedience.” It is not that difficult a concept to grasp.

So how would people describe me this morning? Am I kindness personified? Am I the embodiment of wisdom? Or am I the epitome of childishness, or pettiness, or malice? What noun are you?

And then there is this further consideration: can I even become a noun? Am I too inconsistent or too weak to become what God requires of me on a regular basis? Can I ever hope to have someone say of me, “She is love,” or, “She is joy,” or “She is faith?”

A small thought for the morning, but one that could make a huge difference in our lives.

For the love of Christ constrains us; because we thus judge, that one died for all, therefore all died; and he died for all, that they that live should no longer live unto themselves, but unto him who for their sakes died and rose again…Wherefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature: the old things are passed away; behold, they are become new, 2 Cor 5:14,15,17.

Dene Ward

Seven Things Not to Say to a Missionary

10/10/2014 0 Comments

Today’s post is by guest writer Helene Smith, who has been a missionary’s wife in Asia for several years.

Over the years I have had the pleasure of knowing lots and lots of people, young and old, single and married, male and female who are or have been missionaries. When their hair was down and they were talking shop, they talked about you, the folks at home. Sometimes they talked so gratefully about the cards you sent, the love you showed, the hospitality and kindness you showered them with while they were in America. But other times they talked to me frankly about things that people say, things that were often meant in the kindest spirit but that nonetheless frustrated or hurt them. So on their behalf, I'd like to share these statements with you so you have a chance to encourage them better.

7. When are you coming home?

This was mentioned many times. Each missionary understood that the speakers were trying to say that they were loved and missed. Yet what they longed for was encouragement. Where were the cheerleaders? Who could understand that in many ways they were making a new home?

6. When are you going to come back to your real life?

The missionaries I spoke to were baffled by this question. They lived for months, years, decades in their host countries. They married, had children, and made friends they'd never forget. They had worked, sometimes two jobs, a secular one and a religious one. They had taught Bible classes, hosted one on one Bible studies, prayed, cried and rejoiced. It hurt to have others minimize their "real life."

5. How can you take your kids into... situation?

There's no good answer to this question. The missionary who mentioned this told me that he met with a lot of ignorance, but informing people about the realistic dangers in his host country didn't help. Every missionary parent has the same concerns about their kids that you do about yours. Every missionary parent entrusts them into God's hands just like you do. If you're genuinely curious, ask genuinely; it won't be hurtful. But if you're thinking, "I don't care what God wants, I wouldn't do that to MY kids," don't say it out loud and discourage others!

4. I could never do what you're doing. Never.

This statement, the missionaries I interviewed told me, came from one of two kinds of hearts. Sometimes the speaker thought he was talking to a super-Christian. However missionaries are ordinary Christians called to an unusual lifestyle. They don't think of themselves as any different from you, spiritually speaking. No matter how flattering, life on a pedestal is life separated from your fellowship. The other people who say this sentence seem to fear the idea of going abroad (especially to a dangerous or underdeveloped country). They really DO think that they couldn't do it.

3. We have lost people here too. I don't know why you have to go all the way to...

Once again there's no good answer. I talked with missionaries who tried to explain exactly why they felt that they were being called by God, missionaries who tried to explain the statistics and the weight of people who would die without the opportunity to hear the name of Jesus, missionaries who tried to talk about the great commission and how they were trying to fulfill it. However, it seems none of the answers was particularly successful. Each missionary felt frustrated because they couldn't communicate the power and burden of their call. While the people in America had Bibles, local churches and people just like the one asking the questions, the people in their host country might have no chance to hear the gospel if the missionary didn't go.

2. When are you going to get a real job?

See number 6. Being a full time missionary is a real job. Missionaries are responsible to two congregations not one. They have administrative, teaching, studying, evangelistic and other duties. It's a real job.

1. Well over there...

Whether its true or not, no one likes to hear criticism of a place or a people they love. Finding reasons to complain about their host country's politics, policies, economics, crime or culture is likely to upset them. Although they may well agree with you about the problem, as they identify more and more with their host culture it hurts to hear outsiders comment negatively. It's like hearing a stranger say something bad about your child. You can say what you like, you're his or her mom but when a stranger does, it hurts! If you want to talk about it, ask what they think instead of repeating what the talking heads on TV said.

I'm not suggesting that you should start treating your missionary with kid gloves. Just take a minute and think about how your comments sound. Make sure that you tell them that you're proud of them, acknowledge that they have a tough but blessed job, and find out what they'd like to be prayed for. And I can't emphasize enough, ask. Missionaries home on furlough often would like to tell about their host home but feel that they are boring others. They'd love to share their victories, terrors and defeats; they'd love to tell you what they've learned. They'd love to encourage and be encouraged by you.

Helene Smith

See more of Helene’s writings at www.maidservantsofChrist.com

The Dead Possum

10/9/2014 0 Comments

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   Possums, or more properly “opossums,” can be a nuisance. They rummage in the garbage, they poke about in the shed, and they ramble into the garden destroying perfectly good melons with a bite or two out of each one. That is one reason we have dogs, and Magdi has done better than any other at solving the problem For awhile we had to bury one every day; she must have come across some sort of Possumopolis out in the woods.

   One morning Keith found yet another as he was leaving for work, but he was so late he had no time to properly dispose of it. It was my turn to do the honors. I have come a long way in 36 years, but I still won’t pick up a dead thing, even with big thick gloves. So I got the shovel.

   I am glad my neighbors are not close. I stuck the shovel edge down by the possum and pushed, assuming it would just slide under the offensive creature so I could carry it out to the woods and let nature do the disposal work. Instead, the shovel just pushed the possum along. I tried again, and again, and again.   Every time I pushed, the possum moved farther and I wound up following it in a circle around the field. This possum might as well have been alive it was making such a merry chase.

   Meanwhile Magdi stood to the side. She looked at me like I was nuts, but she also looked at me like she would really like to have her possum back. Occasionally she lunged at the possum as I made the circle yet again passing her on the right. So there I was pushing a dead possum in a circle around the yard with a shovel, while yelling at the dog at regular intervals, like some sort of bizarre ritualistic dance.

   I stopped, winded and frustrated, and found myself next to the oak tree across the driveway from the well. The answer struck me, if only I had the energy left. I pushed the shovel again. Again it pushed the possum, this time right against the tree and the tree held it there for me as the shovel slid beneath it. Success!

   I lifted the shovel--and the possum rolled right off of it. Somehow I kept from screaming. Okay, I told myself. You have learned something. Possums are heavy and you have to hold the shovel handle tightly so it won’t tip. I tried again, pushing the possum up against the tree and lifting the shovel, this time ready for the shifting weight. Now I just had to get it to the woods. It was a several hundred yard trip, and that possum at the end of the shovel got heavier and heavier.

   About halfway there I knew I was not going to make it, so rather than let the thing drop in a clearing where there were no trees to push against, I carefully lowered the shovel to the ground. As much as I hated to, I had to move my hand farther down the handle, closer to the possum so the weight would be easier to manage. I did, and it was easier, so much easier I could even walk faster without being in danger of losing the possum.

   I was already dressed for Bible class and did not want to traipse into the woods among the briars and brush, so I carefully pulled back on the shovel and slung with all my might. So I am not Supergirl. The possum slid off the shovel about five feet into the brush, not much further than the length of the shovel handle. By then, I was ready to call that a great success, and left it.

   As shocking as it might sound, that is the way we treat God sometimes. Instead of rushing into His safe and loving embrace, we keep Him at arm’s length. Like a teenager who is too embarrassed to act like he loves his parents, we are too embarrassed to let our love for God show to those around us. We don’t want to look too weird, too strange, too “fanatical.”

   Early Christians were known for their good works. In fact, that is how they often gave themselves away to their persecutors. They looked and acted so differently from everyone else. No one else was kind and forgiving, even when mistreated. Would our godly behavior give us away under similar circumstances, or would it lump us in with the crowd because our religion has not “contaminated” our lives?

   Even among ourselves we don’t want to say things that might make people look at us askance. It’s like the old joke where the new convert sits in the pews saying, “Amen,” and “Praise God,” only to have some older member take him aside and say, “Son, we don’t praise God here.”

   God wants us close to Him. Think about that for a moment. Our awesome all-powerful Creator wants a relationship with us. He made an incomprehensible sacrifice to make it possible. Maybe we need to be shocked with this analogy, so we will wake up. When we keep Him at arm’s length like something disgusting, we are treating God like a dead possum.

Wherefore also He is able to save to the uttermost them that draw near unto God through Him, seeing He ever lives to make intercession for them…Draw near to God and He will draw near to you, Heb 7:25; James 4:8a.

Dene Ward

The Oscillating Fan

10/8/2014 0 Comments

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   Since Keith has retired we sit on the carport nearly every morning with a final cup of coffee, talking and tossing treats to Chloe, watching the hummingbirds dogfight, listen to the squeaky whine of titmice fussing over the feeders, counting blooms on the Mexican petunias, and trying to decide if the clouds bode well or ill for the day. Even in the summer, we enjoy our time, but in the summer one thing changes—the quiet of the country becomes the roar of the big shop fan. That fan makes it comfortable enough, as it blows away the gnats and mosquitoes, and turns the early morning humidity into a cool breeze instead of a heavy and suffocating blanket.

   As a born and bred Florida girl, fans were a large part of my childhood. We did not have air conditioning until I was a teenager, and central air did not come along until Keith and I had been married three years. Not that it wasn’t invented, but it had not yet reached our income level.

   I remember summer afternoons at my grandmother’s house, sitting on the porch under the shade of oaks and chinaberries, listening to the soft whir and tick-tick-tick-tick as her old oscillating fan swept back and forth across us, evaporating the sheen of sweat and cooling us in the process. That fan felt wonderful. In an air conditioned world, I doubt many but my generation have known that feeling.

   This morning I came across Genesis 3:8 and saw a margin note I had never noticed before.

   And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…

   Did you know that word “cool” can also be translated “wind” or “breath?” God created everything, including the cooling effects of wind and, thus, an evening breeze to cool of His earth. So the perfect garden must have become a bit warm during the “heat of the day.” Surely God had already created the ability to perspire, as well, since that is essential to the function of the body. Man, as he worked in the garden (Gen 2:15), must have become warm and must have sweated. Then God sent the evening breezes to cool him off. It wasn’t until after he sinned that the work became difficult and the heat and the sweat became intolerable, just as it wasn’t until after then that conception, which I view as the whole of the female condition, became painful.

   You can find that word again in Prov 17:27: He who spares his words has knowledge, and he that is of a cool spirit has understanding. “Spirit” is “wind” is “cool.” So now I have fans and breezes and dispositions in my mind, and it all came out this way:

   If I have a hot nature, I need the cooling effects of the Spirit, and what better way than to read the word he “breathed” to cool me off?

   Many of us are foolish enough to put ourselves in situations where we know we will be tempted to anger, where we know we will be pushed and prodded and even shoved right in its path. Why?! We tell our children to avoid situations of temptation. We tell them it’s downright stupid to go certain places and not expect trouble. But we sometimes even contrive them, almost as if to flaunt our freedom to do so. Then we shout out, “That shouldn’t have been so hard,” as we fall, flailing our arms for some sort of lifeline that isn’t there. We decided we didn’t need it.

   This might be more motivating: Not only can God cool us, but with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked, Isa 11:4. One word seems to say it from every angle, just as the old oscillating fan hit from every angle. Cool yourself off with the Word of God, and don’t go near the torrid zones.

Whoever is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city, Prov 16:32.

Good sense makes one slow to anger… Prov 19:11.

Be not quick in your spirit to become angry, for anger lodges in the heart of fools, Eccl 7:9.

Dene Ward

Tokens

10/7/2014 0 Comments

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   When was the last time you thought about your baptism? Did you realize that baptism is mentioned in one way or another in well over half the books of the New Testament, and that in the epistles it is a discussion directed toward those who have already been baptized? Why is it then that we relegate it to first principles only, and ignore it the rest of our lives?

   Paul told the Colossians in 2:11,12 that baptism is the “circumcision” of New Testament Israel. Instead of removing a piece of flesh, we remove the “old man of flesh.” So what was circumcision to Old Testament Israel?

   God told Abraham in Genesis 17 that circumcision was a token of the covenant between God and his people. And the uncircumcised male who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin, that soul shall be cut off from his people; he hath broken my covenant, v 14.

   The Hebrew word for “token,” OTH, is used in a variety of ways in the Old Testament. In Numbers 2:2 it refers to the banners that waved over a tribe’s encampment to identify them. In Gen 4:15 it refers to the mark God put on Cain as a sign of his protection. In Josh 2:12 it was the scarlet cord, a sign of the bargain between Rahab and the spies.   In Ex 4:8,9 God gave Moses miracles to do which showed both the people and Pharaoh that he came from God. In Josh 4:6 it referred to the pile of stones used to remember the crossing of the Jordan River, a memorial that was to be passed down through the generations.

   If it was so important, why then did the people discontinue it in the wilderness? For all the people that came out [of Egypt] were circumcised; but all the people that were born in the wilderness by the way as they came forth out of Egypt, they had not circumcised. For the children of Israel walked forty years in the wilderness, till all the nation, even the men of war that came forth out of Egypt, were consumed, because they hearkened not unto the voice of Jehovah: unto whom Jehovah swore that he would not let them see the land which Jehovah swore unto their fathers that he would give us, a land flowing with milk and honey. And their children, whom he raised up in their stead, these did Joshua circumcise, Josh 5:5-8.

   Maybe I am reading something into this that is not there, but I wonder if God simply did not allow those faithless people to circumcise their children. He certainly took it seriously when Moses did not circumcise his sons (Ex 4:24-26). Only when the faithless generation of Israelites were all dead did Joshua renew this covenant and its token with their children.

   So here is our question today: If God were to take similar actions today, would he allow me to have my children baptized?   Or would he consider it a travesty of the covenant for someone as faithless as I, someone who no longer lives up to the baptism I took part in, that symbolic resurrection from the death of sin, to try to teach my children about it and what it means? How could I even hope to do so?

   The biggest insult a Jew could hurl was “uncircumcised Gentile.” That is why they stoned Stephen in Acts 7 after he said they were uncircumcised in heart, v 51. They understood that the token of the covenant with God was not supposed to be merely an outward sign, but a symbol of a faithful relationship. What is your baptism to you? Is it merely the last step on the staircase chart of the Plan of Salvation? Or is it a token, a daily reminder to live like a new person, a child of a covenant relationship with God, a relationship that is more precious to you than anything else in the world?

In him also you were circumcised with a circumcision made without hands, by putting off the body of the flesh, by the circumcision of Christ, having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through faith in the powerful working of God, who raised him from the dead. And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, Col 2:11-13.

Dene Ward

Road Trip

10/6/2014 0 Comments

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Most families have just returned from a road trip of some variety this past summer. You may not realize it, but this is a fairly recent development. We seem to think that the Declaration of Independence lists our inalienable rights as “life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and a thousand dollar (or more) family vacation every year.” When I was growing up we might have gone on two or three “vacations.” The rest of the time we visited family, and that involved nothing but visiting—the adults talking and the children playing together. Anywhere we might have gone while there was a free day trip—no admission fees—and lunch was usually a picnic we packed ourselves.

If it hadn’t been for discovering tent camping, my boys would not have had vacations either. In those days you could pitch a tent in a state park for $7.00 a night, and cook your own meals over the campfire instead of eating out. We also did our share of family visiting. Although you hate to view your family as a “free motel,” it was the only way we could see them at least once a year.

I like to think of this life as a road trip. Too many people consider it the destination and that will skew your perspective in a bad way. If you think this life is supposed to be the good part, you will sooner or later be severely disappointed.

As we go along the road a lot of things happen. We will be faced with decisions that are not easy to make, and which may turn out badly. Sometimes we are too easy on ourselves, making excuses and rationalizing. But other times we are entirely too hard on ourselves. If you look back on a decision you made years ago, and find yourself wishing you had done things differently, that doesn’t necessarily mean you were wrong then. Sometimes it simply means you were without experience, a little naïve, a lot ignorant.

Let’s put it this way. I live almost an hour north of Gainesville, Florida. If I leave for Atlanta at 8 AM, it’s no shame if I am not even to Macon by 10 AM. On the other hand, if I leave at 5 AM and haven’t even made Macon yet, something is wrong. I’ve been dawdling over gas pumps, stopping for snacks too many times, or wandering through tourist traps that have nothing to do with the trip itself. The question, then, is not where you are on the road, but when you left in the first place. You can’t expect yourself to know what to do in every situation of life when you haven’t even experienced much life. The decision you make today may be completely different than the one you made in the same situation twenty years ago, but twenty years ago if you did the best you could do with what you knew, you did well.

And what are we doing on our road trip? Are we wasting too much time at tourist traps? Life is full of distractions, things not necessarily wrong, but which may not help us on the trip at all, or may even do harm by skewing our perspective. It really isn’t important where you live and what kind of car you drive in this life. If you think it is, you’ve forgotten where you’re headed—the here and now has become your goal instead.

If you want to keep your mind on the goal, ignore the billboards life puts out for you and spend time with your atlas. Nothing helps me get through a long trip more than watching the towns go by and following them with my finger on the map. Every time I check the mileage we are a little further on, and soon, sooner than you might think, the destination is in sight. That’s why you started this trip in the first place—not for the World’s Largest Flea Market, or the Gigantic Book Sale, or even the Only Locally Owned Canning Facility and Orchard (with free samples).

Watch the road, use the map, avoid the tourist traps. Make the best decisions you can at every intersection. This is the only road trip you get. Don’t mess it up.

Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. Ponder the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure. Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil. Proverbs 4:25-27

Dene Ward

When Soap Doesn't Work

10/3/2014 0 Comments

    I was 18, but I might as well have been 12. Looking back I can see the warning signs, but as naïve as I was then I was blind to them.

   The summer between my freshman and sophomore college years I had found a job not far from the house at a concrete plant. I had signed on as a “tile sorter” out in the warehouse on a crew full of women, but the yard boss saw on my application that I knew how to type so the first morning he made me the office secretary.

   The work was simple and a little scarce—I answered the phone; I made the coffee; I figured payroll from the time cards and passed out paychecks. I might have typed three letters all summer long. Finally I found the old directory of suppliers and other concrete plants in the area. It was scratched out and scribbled over with address and telephone changes so I gave myself the chore of researching and re-typing that whole thing on the days when there was literally nothing else to do for hours. I think the whole point of me being there was so the yard boss could say he had a secretary like the big guys up in the front office.

   Aside from the pride issue, he was a decent man, a Jehovah’s Witness who actually talked with me about religious things when he was free. He seemed impressed when I showed him a passage or two he didn’t know was there.

   But his immediate underling was not as nice a man as he pretended to be when the boss was there. Not that I knew it at first or none of this would have happened. I can look back on it now and hear his words and know what he was thinking as surely as if he told me out loud, but not then. I was too innocent and trusting.

   One day late in the summer I found myself alone in the office with him. The old clerk was sick and the yard boss had been called up to the front office on the highway, a good quarter mile walk through the hot dusty yard beneath overhead cranes. I had gone to the front counter to look for some forms and suddenly I found myself hemmed into a corner with this six foot something, 250 lb, fifty year old man coming right at me   Before I knew it, he grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me.

   I am not sure what he expected, but somehow I got loose, slipped around him, and ran as fast as I could to the only restroom in the place, a grimy cubbyhole about four foot square. I locked the wooden door, grabbed a scratchy, brown paper towel and scrubbed my face over and over and over and over. Then I re-wet the towel, added more soap and went at it again. I couldn’t stop myself. It’s a wonder I didn’t draw blood.

   Now look at Psalm 51:2. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. This is the psalm David wrote after Nathan convicted him of the sins of adultery and murder. I have read that in the Hebrew “wash me thoroughly” is literally “multiply my washings.” After at least a year, long enough for Bathsheba to bear a child and that child to die, David finally realizes the enormity of his sins and feels the remorse like a knife in his heart. One little plea for forgiveness won’t do in his mind, not for the terrible things he has done. He feels the need for ritual cleansing over and over and over and over. It isn’t a failure to accept God’s forgiveness; it’s an overwhelming sense of absolute filth.

   When I read the literal meaning of “wash me thoroughly” those feelings I had standing in that grubby little bathroom over forty years ago came flooding back to me. And now, like never before, I realize exactly how I ought to feel when I ask God’s forgiveness. What I have done to Him is much worse than that which was done to me by a sordid lecher so many years ago.

   You need to feel it too. If there is anything that will dowse your temptations like a bucket of water on a fire, that will. I am not sure now how long I stood there shaking, sick to my stomach, but I did not leave that hideous little room until I heard other voices in the office. Nothing was going to get me out there until I was sure I was safe.

   Sin in your life will corrupt you. Soap won’t get it out, no matter how many times you wash yourself. Only the blood of the Lamb and the grace of God can cleanse you. And even then, you should feel the need for more, and more, and more, and more, until finally you can face yourself in the mirror.

   If you are having trouble with temptations today, remember this little story. It’s not something I share lightly.

Though you wash yourself with lye and use much soap, the stain of your guilt is still before me, declares the Lord GOD, Jer 2:22.

Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Make me to hear joy and gladness, That the bones which you have broken may rejoice, Psalm 51:7,8.

Dene Ward

Practice Makes Perfect

10/2/2014 1 Comments

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            The gospel is nothing if not practical. God was more interested in helping us live our lives every day than equipping us to sit in dusty rooms arguing theology. So today let’s be eminently practical.

            I am sure you have heard “practice makes perfect” your entire life. It is wrong. The only thing practice makes is permanent.

            One of the things I had to train many of my piano students to do was to practice correctly. They would come in with the same mistakes week after week. First they played the wrong note (the same wrong note in the same piece at every lesson), and then they would correct it. What they had taught themselves to do was to play the wrong note first, then stop and play the right one. Correcting it did not make the competition judge happy. He wanted a perfect performance the first time.

            When their poor practice habits became obvious, we had to start all over. First I had them tell me the name of the correct note, saying the name aloud several times which I then repeated to them. “Right, it’s an F#, an F#, an F#.” Then I had them find that note and play it with the correct finger, while saying its name over and over. Then I had them play the note before it and after it until they played that three note sequence correctly no less than three times in a row. If they made a mistake, we started counting all over.

            Then we backed up one measure and played past it one measure, once again until they could do it correctly three times in a row. Then we backed up one phrase and played past it one phrase until they could play the three phrases correctly three times in a row. You get the picture. We practiced it correctly over and over, using as many senses as possible, hearing ourselves say the correct name of the note, feeling the correct note under the finger, seeing the correct note both on the page and as we played it, and then playing through without the bad habit of doing it wrong first. Usually that took care of the problem.

            What do we do as Christians? Do we teach ourselves to do it wrong first, then pray for forgiveness over and over, constantly making the same mistakes? Practice makes permanent. Maybe it is time to do a little analysis.

            Why do I keep doing the same thing again and again? “That’s just the way I am,” is not an acceptable reason; it is a lame excuse. God expects us to change the way we are. If it took such detailed, tedious work to undo a bad habit in a piano piece, why do we think we don’t have to really work at it to undo a bad habit in our thoughts or behaviors, where Satan is actively pulling against us? Some of my students may have been little devils, but that is not why they played wrong notes! So why should sin be easier to fix?

            Often just the fact that I am owning up to my sin and thinking about the problem will do a world of good, but if you really want to make progress—and I assume we all do--it takes more effort than that..

            Make a plan and follow it. Find three times in the day to pray about that particular problem. Find three passages about that sin and read them over and over. The next day pray again and find three more passages. Do that every day, praying, listing and reading. Keep a journal of all the times that problem rears its ugly head. Write down every detail of the situation, how it happened, what caused it, and how you handled, or mishandled, it--without blaming anyone else. When you finally have a victory, celebrate with a prayer of thanksgiving and your favorite hymn. Call a friend with whom you have shared your problem (James 5:16) and tell them about it so they can rejoice with you.

            You do not have to do all of these things in all of these particular ways and numbers, but do something to help yourself kick the habit. Think about how you set about to lose weight, keeping track of what you eat (including the no-noes) and how much you exercise each day. Remember how those nicotine patch commercials show people stepping down one level at a time till they reach their goal? But you should be stepping UP one level at the time to reach yours.

            Practice makes permanent. Make sure you are practicing correctly.

No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God's seed abides in him, and he cannot keep on sinning because he has been born of God,
1 John 3:9.

Dene Ward

School Days

10/1/2014 0 Comments

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            I can hardly believe it, but Silas has started school. When he found out he had to go back the second week, he said, “You mean I have to go again?!”

            “Yes,” his mother told him, “there is a lot to learn.”

            “But I already learned,” he said, sure that now he would get to stay home with her and his little brother. Of course, he found out otherwise quickly.

            I know that no one would say it out loud, but sometimes I get the feeling some of my brothers and sisters have the same attitude. “I already learned!” which is supposed to justify their never studying for a Bible class, never attending an extra Bible study, never darkening the meetinghouse doors for anything but the Lord’s Supper, as if it were a magic potion that would save them that week regardless of anything else they did. What they have “learned” are usually the pet scriptures, the catchphrases, the simplistic theories that try to explain away the profound depth of the Scriptures—all those things that smack so much of a denominational mindset.

            I have amazing women in my Bible classes, and let me tell you, most of them are neither young nor new Christians. These are women of a certain age, as we often say, who have sat on pews for longer than many others have been alive, yet they see the value in learning still more.

            And that does not necessarily mean learning something new. Sometimes the learning has more to do with a deeper comprehension, uncovering another level of wisdom, or an additional way of applying a fact to one’s life, leading to a changed behavior or attitude. When I see someone in their later years actually change their lives because of a discovery made in Bible class, I am reminded yet again of the power of the Word. The most amazing thing about this living and active Word, is that if you are not blinded by self-satisfaction, every time you study it you can see something new. It’s like peeling an onion—you keep finding another layer underneath.

            You may have “already learned” a great many things, but if that is your attitude, you will never grow beyond the boundaries you have placed upon yourself with that notion. Like a kindergartner who has learned his letters and numbers, you will be stuck in the basics, the “first principles,” and never come to a fuller comprehension of the magnitude of God’s wisdom and His plan for you. If you are still deciding how long to keep a preacher based upon how much you “enjoy” his preaching and how many times he visited you in the hospital, if you are mouthing things like “I never heard of such a thing” or “I am (or am not) comfortable with that,” with not a scripture reference in sight, you still have a long way to go.

            God wants meat-eaters at His banquet. That means you need to chew a little harder and longer. Yes, it takes time away from recess to sit in class and learn some more. Yes, you have to process some new information which may not be as comfortable as you are used to. Your brain may even ache a little, but that is how you learn, by stretching those mental muscles instead of vegetating on the pew.

            You may think you have “already learned,” but I bet you even my kindergartner grandson will have figured out very shortly that there is a whole lot more he needs to know. He’s pretty smart for five. How about you?

Whom will he teach knowledge? and whom will he make to understand the message? them that are weaned from the milk…Isa 28:9.

Wherefore leaving the doctrine of the first principles of Christ, let us press on unto perfection…Heb 6:1.

Dene Ward

The Cookie Cup

9/30/2014 0 Comments

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            When we camp we eat more convenience food than any other time of the year. When you are trying to pack a week’s worth into one cooler and two 2 x 1 x 1 ½ foot plastic containers, and when there is no place to put leftovers, a packaged pasta or rice mix and a small can of vegetables is the perfect-sized accompaniment for whatever meat Keith is grilling that night. Let’s face it, an inch thick rib chop, seasoned with herbs and spices and cooked over a wood fire is the star of the show anyway.

            As for dessert, store-bought cookies are a staple. However, my family is spoiled by homemade cookies so just any old Chips Ahoy won’t do, not even Oreos. So we splurge a bit on the cookies.

            A box of Walker’s Pure Butter Shortbread Bars, imported from Scotland, are a favorite. Melt-in-your-mouth-rich with the flavor and mouth-feel of real butter, and barely sweetened, they are the perfect accompaniment to a cup of instant hot chocolate—another camping necessity.

            Another standby is any Pepperidge Farm cookie, depending upon what’s available when I hit the stores the week before a campout. Walker’s Shortbread makes them look like a bargain, so I buy two kinds rather than just one. If you have ever had any, you know they come in fluted paper cups, like big, white, muffin pan liners, either nestled in a variety box or stacked in a tall foil-lined paper bag.

            To minimize the amount of trash we need to stow away from the coons, possums, and bears, we usually toss anything that will burn into the campfire as we finish its contents. On our last trip we tossed the cup from the first layer of Chewy Fruit and Nut Granola Cookies into the fire. Somehow in the draft of the fire it landed right side up in the middle of a scrap board Keith had just thrown in as well. Both sat right in front of an oak log that had coaled up on the bottom, but not yet begun to burn.

            Temperatures were in the forties that night, so we had a good hot fire going with backlogs to reflect the heat our way and glowing embers several inches deep. Ordinarily a thin piece of paper in a fire like that won’t last five seconds, including burn time. Because of how it landed, that little cup sat there five full minutes. Once, a gust of wind tried to blow it into the fire, but the fire’s updraft on either side of it pushed it right back to the middle of the board. Only a small dark singe mark on its pleated edge showed how close a call it had been.

            Finally, though, the board itself began to burn from either end and the flames crept inexorably toward the paper cup. Suddenly, in one rapid whoosh, the cup caught fire and was gone in less than a second, its final glowing ash floating into the air before finally winking out in the cold black above.

            Too many times we are like that little fluted paper liner. We get ourselves into a place we have no business being, into circumstances that should have ended badly. Yet because God is good, we are saved from the world of hurt we deserved. Then, instead of appreciating the second chance and removing ourselves from that dangerous place, we stay there and gloat. “See? Nothing happened. I’m just fine. I told you I could handle it.”

            We sit there smug and confident, certain that everyone who cautioned us was wrong, while disaster sneaks up closer and closer. In fact, we reach a point where the danger around us seems normal. We no longer even notice. We may have a close call or two, but for so many it just adds to the feeling of superiority instead of waking us up.

            And so suddenly, one day, we are gone in a flash—without warning it seems. But no, we had just become blind to the warnings all around us, fooling ourselves into believing we were safe, while everyone else saw the fire creeping in from all sides.

            Pay attention to where you are today. Take a mental step back and see the whole picture, not just the safe little ledge you think you have built. Listen to those around you who can often see much more clearly than you can in the midst of all that smoke and glare. They wouldn’t say anything and endure your scorn if they didn’t care.

But you, beloved, building up yourselves on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life. And on some have mercy, who are in doubt; and some save, snatching them out of the fire; and on some have mercy with fear; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh, Jude 20-23.

Dene Ward