I began teaching Bible classes when I was 16.  The elder who pulled me out of the high school class and put me into the third grade group when their teacher did not show up was a man named Robin Willis.  That was just the beginning of his cultivation of me as a teacher. 

            Eventually he appointed me the permanent first grade Bible class teacher.  It was a small class—never more than three, which was perfect for a teenage beginner, especially one flying solo.  I was only 17 and I don’t recall speaking to him much one on one, but he had obviously been paying attention.  In my experience since then, for a man to pay that kind of attention to any woman’s spiritual state, unless she is in abject sin, is unheard of.  More often we are shrugged off or ignored, but not this elder.

            Every so often brother Willis made an unannounced visit to my class.  He walked in, sat in the back, and quietly observed.  He never said a word during class and never made any extraneous noises—no grunts, no sighs, nothing that would distract me or the children.  I suppose that was the first time I realized the whole responsibility of elders in feeding their flock.  It wasn’t just appointing teachers and paying for classbooks.  That “onsite inspection” made me much more careful about what I taught and how, and it kept me from ever “phoning it in.”

            When I was 20 he asked me to create and teach a Bible class for the teenage girls in the church.  He came into that one too.  I think it bothered the young ladies far more than it did me—I was used to it by then, but the reminder of my responsibilities never hurt. 

            Before long, he told me I should publish my lessons.  He was as worried as I that the material for women’s classes at that time was pitifully shallow.  It took a few more years, but eventually Born of a Woman: Woman’s Place in the Scheme of Redemption appeared.  He worked for a printing company and saw to it personally that we got an excellent deal and a good looking product.  In case you are wondering, he gave up any personal commissions so I could have the lowest cost possible.  That book is still in circulation and it always pays for itself now.  I have women tell me all the time that they never learned so much in their lives as they did with that book.  They owe that to Robin Willis and his foresight.

            Studying for and writing that book and all that teaching experience at such an early age is what made me the teacher I am today.  Because a shepherd was looking at his flock and saw one who had some potential, because he cultivated that potential with patience, encouragement, and opportunities, I have now taught hundreds of women and children.  An elder doesn’t just feed his flock—he trains others to help with the task, be they men who become teachers, speakers, and maybe even elders, or women who learn to teach in the capacity God has allowed.  Shepherds teach those people the importance of their duty as they check up on them, offering suggestions and giving direction.

            Robin Willis holds a special place in my heart and always will.  If you have ever sat in one of my classes, or learned from one of my books, or read one of my articles, you should thank him as well.  If you are a shepherd of the Lord’s flock, take note of a man who knew what being a spiritual leader was all about.

Take heed unto yourselves, and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you bishops, to feed the church of the Lord which he purchased with his own blood, Acts 20:28.

Dene Ward

My brother-in-law has finished his long journey.  Maybe it was because both of us were the in-laws, but for some reason he was especially kind to me, and I felt comfortable with him.

            Mike came a long way in his life, all the way from atheism to Christianity.  Keith had a special hand in turning him around.  Unfortunately, discouragement set in and he lost his way again for awhile.  When this illness hit him, with some words from his wife and Keith, he made the determination to come home.  Unfortunately, he never had the chance to sit in a pew again and commune with his spiritual family after he made that decision.  Things progressed too quickly and he was gone far sooner than anyone expected, including the doctors.

            When I read the parable of the prodigal son in Luke 15, I notice something important.  The Father was out there looking for his lost son.  It wasn’t just a casual glance—he saw him “afar off.”  This was a Father who wanted to see his son coming home, who wanted to welcome him back.  He stood there looking long and hard for the first sign of that figure trudging down the road.

            Mike’s Father was looking for him too.  Mike had made that determination—he was well on the road home, even having mentioned it to some brethren who visited.  Who is to say that he wasn’t close enough for God to see him coming?  Who is to say that God hadn’t already started running down the road to welcome him home?

            Probably some older brother, that’s who.  I have some of those—brethren who not only expect that long march down the aisle (as if there is a verse requiring that in the New Testament) before they will even consent to forgiving, but who won’t even look down the road in the first place.  I have brethren who are not thrilled with the return of a lost brother but just as grieved as the prodigal’s older brother was.  I have brothers and sisters in Christ who actually seem to enjoy being cynical—“it’ll never last.” 

            But I praise God that He is a Father who is merciful, who wants to forgive, who actually looks for reasons to forgive, instead of reasons to condemn.

            None of us deserves God’s mercy.  Perhaps if we remembered that, we would be eagerly looking to forgive too.

Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful, Luke 6:36.

The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some count slackness; but is longsuffering to you-ward, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance, 2 Pet 3:9.

Dene Ward

            Keith and I have wondered out loud lately, how a word that should be a compliment, “adult,” has come to mean something bad--adult bookstores, adult movies, adult shops.  If a person knew no better, and walked into one of those places what would he see that could be described as “mature” the way the scriptures use the word?  It reminds me of Isaiah’s warning:  Woe unto those who call evil good and good evil; who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put sweet for bitter, and bitter for sweet, 5:20.

            I think there should be a new movie rating:  AM.  It stands for “adolescent mentality.”  Any movie that uses such a meager vocabulary that most of the words have only four letters, that has no dramatic, tension building dialogue lasting longer than ninety seconds before throwing in an explosion or gunfight to get the audience’s attention again, and of course, one that attempts to satisfy the prurient interests of the hormonally-explosive adolescent would get my new rating.  Then those of us who want to behave like real adults, who have larger vocabularies, who don’t need voyeurism to get our kicks, and who have an attention span longer than a minute or two can actually enjoy real adult entertainment.

            The problem with having an adolescent mentality when it comes to entertainment is that it is not confined to that arena.  Can I sit still long enough to pray?  Make yourself pray at least ten minutes today, by the clock.  Can you?  You see, once you get past the standard phrases, two minutes at most, you can really open up to your God, and talk to Him.  If you cannot sit still that long, you may have never really prayed.

            Can I follow a rational argument long enough to study the first 11 chapters of Romans, arguably Paul’s greatest thesis?  Can I study without being led by the hand, or do I simply rely on someone else to do it for me?  Do I have the maturity to honestly examine myself and actually try to do better?  Being a Christian may mean fighting some important battles, but the biggest are usually fought inside yourself and against yourself, with quiet implosions, not loud explosions.

            When we start out, we are all babes in Christ, but He expects us to grow up eventually.  That means some tedious work listening to sermons, attending classes, doing our own Bible study.  Adults understand that not everything can be fun.  It means some long, quiet moments with God.   It means some painful moments of self-discovery.  Are we adult enough to handle it?  Our society’s brand of entertainment speaks otherwise, and unfortunately, society usually winds up worming its way into the body of Christ. 

            When Paul told the Corinthians to Act like men, in 1 Cor 16:13, he was bringing the epistle to its logical end.  While Act like men refers to courage under fire, maybe it can mean something else as well.  In chapter three he calls them “babies,” but now perhaps he is also saying, “Act like adults.”  Would he say the same thing to us? 

But I, brothers, could not speak to you as spiritual men, but as carnal, as babies in Christ.  I fed you with milk, not with meat, for you were not able, and even now you are not able, for you are yet carnal…For everyone who partakes of milk is without experience in the word of righteousness, for he is a baby.  But solid food is for full-grown men who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil…Be watchful, stand firm in the faith.  Act like men, be strong.   1 Cor 3:1-3; Heb 5:13,14; 1 Cor 16:13

Dene Ward

We sit on the carport most spring mornings with a last cup of coffee, looking for the first sign of spring green in the trees, patting Chloe on the head, and planning our day.  This morning a light breeze ruffled my hair and I shrugged my shoulders against the bit of chill left from the last cold front that had blown through earlier in the week.  A light tinkle made my eyes wander up to the new wind chimes hanging above my head, not your ordinary bong-y wind chimes, but a delicate, more musical note that had gotten my attention the first time I heard them.

            I have a new friend, a sister in Christ, who crafts these things herself from antique flatware, glass jar lids, beads, and anything else she can find as she wanders through flea markets and small dusty shops.  Mine has all these beauties hanging from an antique silver salt cellar, something I must explain to anyone younger than 60.  All of her creations are beautiful and unique, and mine has that particularly melodious sound that made me choose it from its fellows.

            Outward beauty does not determine the sound that a wind chime produces.  It can only make the sounds that its various elements make.  You won’t get the same sound from iron bars that you will from silver and glass.  Ever do the trick with your glassware, pinging an empty one to see if it’s truly crystal or just ordinary glass?  That’s the way it is with wind chimes, and that’s the way it is with you and me.  A stony heart will not produce the same fruit as a soft one.  An iron heart will not act the same way a heart of gold will.

            You also know this:  the harder the wind blows, the louder the chimes.  When it seems like the storms of life blow us about the most, those are the times that what we are becomes most obvious.  Those are the times that people see what we’re made of.  Even if they don’t really care about the faith you may have tried to share, it becomes so obvious they cannot miss it.  The wind blows where it will, and you hear the voice thereof, but know not from where it comes, or where it goes; so is every one that is born of the Spirit, John 3:8.  People will not see the Spirit within you personally, but they will see its effects on you.  You cannot disguise whether or not you are filled with the Spirit of God.

            If you would like one of these beautiful chimes, just get in touch and I will share my friend’s contact information.  But today think about this far more important thing—you are God’s wind chimes.  People will not be satisfied with your appearance.  The point of the chimes is the sound they make.  What sound does the Wind produce in you?

And they that are in the flesh cannot please God. But you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwells in you. But if any man has not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his. And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin; but the spirit is life because of righteousness. But if the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he that raised up Christ Jesus from the dead shall give life also to your mortal bodies through his Spirit that dwells in you, Rom 8:8-11.

Dene Ward

            When I was 14 a new young doctor came to town, one who was not afraid to “think outside the box.”  My older doctor turned me over to him and he decided to try contact lenses on me.  I had been wearing coke bottle glasses since I was 4 and my vision declined steadily year after year with the bottoms of the coke bottles getting thicker and thicker.

            In those days, hard, nonporous contact lenses were all they had.  Usually they were the size of fish scales.  Mine were not any broader in circumference but they were still as thick as miniature coke bottle bottoms and nearly as heavy on my eyes.  Most people who wore normal lenses could only tolerate them for six to eight hours.  Now add a cornea shaped like the end of a football, a corrugated football at that, and these things were not meant to be comfortable on my eyes, certainly not for the 16-18 hours a day I had to wear them.

            So why did I do it?  My prescription was +17.25.  The doctor told me there was no number on the chart for my vision.  (“Chart?  What chart?  I don’t see any chart.”)  He said if there were, it would be something like 20/10,000, a hyperbole I am sure, but it certainly made the point.  Hard contacts were my only hope.  If they could stabilize my eyesight, I would last a bit longer.  When I was 20, another doctor told me I would certainly have been totally blind by then if not for those contact lenses.

            Then soft contact lenses were invented and their popularity grew.  But they were not for me.  They would not have stabilized my vision.  I lost count of the number of times people who wore soft lenses said to me, “I tried those hard ones, but I just could not tolerate them.  You are so lucky you can wear them.”

            Luck had nothing to do with it.  My young doctor was smart.  He sat me down and said, “The only way you will be able to do this with these eyes is to really want to.  You must make up your mind that you will do it no matter what.”  That was quite a burden to place on a fourteen year old, but his tactics worked.  Despite the discomfort, I managed, and managed so well that most people never knew how uncomfortable I was.  Finally, when what seemed like the 1000th person told me they just could not tolerate hard lenses, I said, “You didn’t need them badly enough.”  Most of us can do much more than we ever thought possible when we really have to.

            Need is a strong motivation.  A couple of thousand years ago, it motivated a woman to go where she was not expected, normally not even allowed, and certainly not wanted. 

            Simon the Pharisee decided to have Jesus for dinner.  I read that it was the custom of the day for the leading Pharisee in the town to have the distinguished rabbi over for a meal when he sojourned there.  While the man would invite his friends to eat the meal, an open door policy made it possible for any interested party to come in and stand along the wall to listen--any interested man, that is.  Of course, it was assumed that only righteous men would be interested.

            In walked a “sinful” woman.  Luke, in chapter 7, uses a word that does not in itself imply any specific sin, but it was commonly used by that society to refer to what they considered the lowest of sinners, publicans and harlots.  The mere fact that she was a woman also caused someone in the crowd to exclaim, “Look!  A woman!” in what we assume was horrified shock.

            The men were all lying around a low table with their bodies resting on a couch and their feet turned away from the table in the direction of the wall, while their left elbows rested on the table.  The woman came into the room, walked around the wall, and began crying over Jesus’ feet.  Immediately, she knelt to wipe his feet with her hair.  I am told that this too was unacceptable.  “To unbind and loosen the hair in public before strangers was considered disgraceful and indecent for a woman,” commentator Lenski says.  We later discover that these were dirty, dusty feet from walking unpaved roads in sandals.  How do we know?  Because Simon did not even offer Jesus the customary hospitable foot washing. 

            Then she took an alabaster cruse of ointment, a costly gift, and anointed his feet—not just a token drop or two, but the entire contents--once the cruse was broken open, it was useless as a storage container.

            What did Simon do?  Nothing outward, but Jesus knew what he thought, and told him a story. 

            One man owed a lender 500 shillings, and another owed him 50.  Both were forgiven their debts when they could not pay.  Who, Jesus asked him, do you think was the most grateful?  The one who owed the most, of course, Simon easily answered.

            And so by using his own prejudices against him, Jesus proved that Simon himself was less grateful to God than this sinful woman.  His own actions, or lack thereof toward Jesus was the proof.  This man, like so many others of his party, was completely satisfied with himself and where he stood before God.  And that satisfaction blinded him to his own need, for truly no one can stand before God in his own righteousness.  His gratitude suffered because he did not feel his need.  Would he have gone into a hostile environment and lowered himself to do the most menial work a servant could do, and that in front of others?  Hardly.

            So how much do I think I need the grace of God?  The answer is the same one to how far I will go to get it, how much I will sacrifice to receive it, and how much pain I will put up with for even the smallest amount to touch my life.  Am I a self-satisfied Simon the Pharisee, more concerned with respectability than with his own need for forgiveness, or a sinful woman, who probably took the deepest breath of her life and walked into a room full of hostile men because she knew it was her only chance at Life? 

And turning to the woman, he said unto Simon, See this woman? I entered into your house; you gave me no water for my feet: but she has wet my feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair.  You gave me no kiss: but she, since the time I came in, has not ceased to kiss my feet.  My head with oil you did not anoint: but she has anointed my feet with ointment.  So I say unto you, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, loves little.  And he said unto her, Your sins are forgiven… Your faith has saved you; go in peace, Luke 7:44-48,50.

Dene Ward

This new series has come to me in fits and starts over the years.  Age has a way of bringing together bits and pieces into a final realization that would never have arrived any other way.  After reviewing my life and observing hundreds of others, answering letters and emails seeking advice, and having scores of private sessions both in person and on the phone, I think I have finally figured something out. 

            We teach our young men fairly well these days, especially now that man-bashing has become a cultural phenomenon.  We, meaning women, seem to think they are responsible for all the ills in the world, and bumbling idiots to boot.  If you haven’t noticed that on television, you haven’t been paying enough attention.  So we teach them to be considerate husbands and involved fathers.  But have we ever taught them that, as the Divinely appointed head in practically all situations, they are to be spiritual leaders?  It is up to them, the scriptures say, to bring up their children “in the chastening and admonition of the Lord,” Eph 6:4.  It is up to them to “feed the flock” Acts 20:28.  It is up to them to make their wives holy (Eph 5:25-27).  As a woman I am not the one to teach this, but I can share with you the men in my life and how they have fulfilled their duties, and let their examples teach.  I am blessed to have had these men watching out for my spiritual growth and learning. 

            Obviously, fathers have the most to do with a child’s spiritual growth.  I have already introduced you to my father, Gerald Ayers--his example, his wisdom, and his care.  Because he understood his role, I grew up to be a Christian, not just someone who “got wet” and sat on a pew, but a real disciple of Christ. 

            In my house, no one ever questioned where we would be on Sunday and Wednesday.  There was never any reason to ask if I could miss an assembly for anything whatsoever.  It went without saying.  That kind of consistency is remarkably absent these days.  We try so hard to teach people that being a Christian is about more than sitting on a pew that we forget to tell them where and when to sit at all. 

            Yet I knew that assembly wasn’t all of it.  “Little pitchers have big ears,” we say of our children.  I heard some of the things he went through at work because he wouldn’t participate in after hours drinking, because he wouldn’t lie for the boss, and because his language was above reproach.  They called him, “Shucks,” because that was the strongest word that ever came out of his mouth, and most of them meant it as an insult.  I knew that being a Christian was important enough to take those insults, to be shunned, and to stand up when no one else stood with you.  My mother stood right there beside him.

            As I grew older he made sure I had the tools to study my Bible.  He made sure I had the time to do my lessons.  When a science teacher in the 8th grade gave me grief for being a Creationist, he gave me the materials I needed.  He had collected them and filed them away, and when the day came and I needed help, he handed me plenty of ammunition to fight my first real battle as a believer.  Thanks to him I wrote a paper that impressed even my teacher, according to her written remarks, even though to save face she only gave me a B+.  As a straight A student, I wore that B+ like a badge of honor.  It was my first ding in God’s service.

            My father continued in his role as leader when his grandsons came along.  They both remember his kindness, his smile, and the hymns he constantly sang.  Before he died, even in a state of increasing dementia, he was concerned about our faith.  “I want us all worshipping with the saints in Heaven,” he told me.  Recently I dedicated one of my posts to him, and I often use him as an example in my classes. He was the first of my spiritual leaders and probably the most important because he set the foundation for others to build on.

             But there were three more men who influenced me greatly, and I want you to know them too.  I hope you will continue to join me every Monday as I share them with you.

And if it seem evil unto you to serve Jehovah, choose you this day whom you will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve Jehovah. Joshua 24:15.

Dene Ward

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            Every Sunday afternoon I go through those colorful inserts in the Sunday paper and cut out coupons.  We don’t use much processed food beyond condiments and cereals, so I seldom clip the “hundreds of dollars worth” they brag about, but it’s always enough to pay for the paper and pull my shopping trip under budget, sometimes as much as 20%, so it’s well worth the effort.

            I regularly shake my head at a lot of the products I see these days.  Convenience foods have turned us into helpless klutzes in the kitchen.  Even at out of season prices I can buy a large fresh bell pepper and chop it myself into well more than a cupful for about $1, OR I can buy a measly half cup already chopped for $3 and save myself a whopping 2 minutes of chopping time at six times the cost.  Wow, she muttered, unimpressed.

            Then there is the “fun factor.”  For some reason we always need to be entertained.  As I flipped through those coupons last week, I came across a full page ad for a new cereal—“Poppin’ Pebbles,” which, I am told, offer “big berry flavor with a fantastic fizz.”  Evidently these out-fun the snap, crackle, pop of the old Rice Krispies I grew up with, judging by the amazed look on the child model’s face, her hands splayed over her cheeks in wonderment.  Now, I guess, our meals must entertain us before they are worthy to be eaten.

            Don’t think for a minute that this doesn’t reflect our spiritual attitudes.  “I can hardly listen to that man,” a sister told me once of a brother’s teaching ability.  The brother in question had one of the finest Bible minds I ever heard and regularly took a passage I thought I knew inside out and showed me something new in it, usually far deeper than its standard interpretation, one that kept me thinking for days afterward.  So what was the problem?  He didn’t tell jokes, he didn’t share cute stories or warm, fuzzy poetry.  He just talked and you had to do your part and listen.

            Do you think they didn’t have those problems in the first century?  Pagan religion was exciting.  The fire, the spectacle, the pounding rhythms, the garish costumes, not to mention the appeal to sensuality, made it far more appealing to the masses than a quiet service of reverent, joyful a capella singing, prayers, and a simple supper memorializing a sacrifice.

            Some of those long ago brethren must have tried to bring in the fun factor.  When it came to spiritual gifts, they weren’t satisfied unless they could have the flashy ones.  The whole discussion in 1 Corinthians 12 begins with a group who thinks that their gift is the best because of that.  They have to be reminded that they all receive those gifts from the same source “as the Spirit wills” not as they will—it has nothing to do with one being better, or more necessary, than the other, or one brother being more important.

            They wanted to jazz up their services every chance they got, even speaking in tongues when an interpreter was not present.  Paul had to tell them to stop, to “be silent.”  It is not about entertainment and glory, he said, it’s about edification (1 Cor 14:26). 

            What did Paul call these people who wanted flash and show, who wanted entertainment?  In verse 14:20 he says that such behavior is childish.  In 3:1 he calls them carnal and equates that with spiritual immaturity.  Did you notice that breakfast cereal ad I mentioned is directed squarely at children?  It is assumed that when you grow up you don’t need such motivation to do what’s good for you, like eat your whole grains, and God assumes that as spiritual adults we will understand the importance of spiritual things. 

            And what about the friends we try to reach?  Do we pander to their baser instincts and expect to create an appreciation for intense Bible study, an ability to stand up to temptation, and a joyful acceptance of persecution?  When it’s no longer fun all the time, when it’s hard work and sacrifice, will they quit?

            People who want to be entertained are the same ones who want a physical kingdom here on this earth instead of the spiritual one that “is within you,” that is “not of this world.”  They are the ones who want a comedian for a preacher instead of a man of God who will teach the Word of God plainly and simply.  They want a singing group they can tap their toes to instead of songs they can sing from the heart with others who may be just as tone-deaf as they are.  Read the context.  “Singing with the spirit” is not about clapping your hands and stomping your feet to the rhythm.  It’s about teaching and growing spiritually.

            Being a Christian is always joyful, but when I believe that joy is always predicated on entertainment, I am no better than Herod who wanted Jesus to entertain him just hours before his crucifixion.  I am no better than the former pagans who tried to bring flashy rituals into the spiritual body of Christ.  I am no better than a child who needs coddling in order to behave himself. 

            Imagine what might have happened if Jesus had needed to be entertained in order to save us.

For it is a rebellious people, lying children, children that will not hear the law of Jehovah; that say to the seers, See not; and to the prophets, Prophesy not unto us right things, speak unto us smooth things, prophesy deceits…And for this cause God sends them a working of error, that they should believe a lie: that they all might be judged who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.  Isa 30:10,11; 2 Thes 2:11,12.

Dene Ward

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            As winter turned to spring this year, we noticed all the usual signs.  The azaleas spilled white, red, and all shades of pink and purple blooms under every live oak in sight.  The dogwoods made white spotlights in the forests when a sunbeam broke through the gloom.  The robins made brief rest stops on their return migration north, and hummingbirds buzzed our feeder, empty since last October, letting us know they were back and ready to be fed.  Oak pollen sifted down in a yellow powder all over the car.  The temperature and humidity rose as did the gnats, flies, and mosquitoes out of the swamps and bogs.  And Chloe started shedding.

            Magdi always shed individual hairs as she rolls in the grass, as she scratches, as we pet or brush her.  But Chloe sheds in clumps.  Whenever she rose, she left behind wads of red fur on the grass or carport, reminding me of the floor of a beauty salon after a haircut.  Every time we scratched her head, the clumps stuck to our hands and clothes, or floated off with the breeze as if we had blown red dandelion puffs.  Before long she looked like an old sofa with large threadbare patches.  Eventually all her winter coat fell off—everything except a two inch fringe running down her hind legs.  Now she looks like a canine cowgirl wearing chaps.

            But you know what?  She is still Chloe, our one-year-old Australian cattle dog.  She still loves to eat.  She still nips at Magdi’s heels.  She still chases butterflies and grasshoppers, and plays tug-o-war with ropes and rags.  She still has a sweet little face that melts my heart.

            When we become Christians, Paul tells us we should lay aside the old self, Eph 4:22, crucify ourselves, Gal 2:20, and become new creatures, 2 Cor 5:17.  Too many times we do what Chloe did, shed the outer self only.  The inside stays the same.  We still consider ourselves before others, we still give in to every temptation, we still excuse our poor behavior instead of grabbing hold of the power of Christ to really change who we are.  We are still exactly the same person; we just have a new haircut.

            Changing is hard—it does not happen overnight.  But how many of us can examine ourselves honestly today and see a change from that day we claimed to make a commitment?  How long has it been?  Even one year should show a significant change for the better, and how many of us have twenty, thirty, forty years or more under our belts and still make the same mistakes on a regular basis?

            Don’t just sweep some hair off the floor today.  If you haven’t already, start making a real change in yourself.

I beseech you therefore brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  And be not fashioned according to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, Rom 12:1,2.

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            I looked in the pantry the other day for a box of pasta.  Know what I found?  Spaghetti, penne rigate, orzo, linguini, lasagna, shells, and elbow macaroni.  I stood there at least five minutes trying to figure out which one I wanted to use.  Then I needed vinegar.  There was apple cider vinegar, white vinegar, balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, white wine vinegar, red wine vinegar, and homemade rosemary vinegar.  That took even longer. 

            I remember the old days when I had spaghetti and macaroni, apple cider vinegar and all purpose white.  I didn’t have enough money in the grocery budget to play around with anything else.  We still aren’t rich, but we are certainly better off than thirty years ago, and being better off has cost me a lot of time lately, trying to figure out what I want to use when instead of just grabbing the only thing available and throwing it in the pot.

           That made me wonder what this economy and this culture is costing the Lord’s body.  Things may be changing, but we can still worship without fear.  So what do we do?  Since we don’t face actual physical persecution, we find silly things to fight about among ourselves.  Since we have plenty in the coffers due to our more affluent membership, we argue about what to do with it, and often wind up “burying our money” in bank accounts. 

            In the very old days, the brethren were too busy fighting pagan culture and hostile government to fight among themselves.  In the more recent old days, money was hard to come by for everyone so when they got a little they were quick to share it.  I’ve seen that in secular organizations.  I was involved with a local music teacher’s group that regularly emptied its bank account giving to needy students for lessons and school music programs for supplies.  Then we put together a community cookbook, made $1000 in one month and had to practically pry anything past several members who, once they had gotten a taste of financial security, didn’t want to give it up.

            We often say, “Be careful what you wish for.”  When we can read in the scriptures of churches so poor they didn’t have enough themselves but still begged to be a part of the giving, I think I understand why wealth is such a dangerous thing.  When things are so easy for us that we look for petty things to fight about, Satan is using that wealth, that security, that life of ease to tear us apart and make us ineffective at the mission God has set before us. 

            Maybe that’s why persecution is looked at favorably in so many passages.  Maybe that’s why wealth in the New Testament is never pictured as anything but dangerous. 

            I just looked in my pantry again.  I have all-purpose flour, cake flour, bread flour, and whole wheat flour.  Despite my protestations, I am too wealthy. 

            It’s time to go fix dinner.  I don’t know whether to use the basmati rice, the brown rice, or the Arborio rice.  Do you know what to do with the blessings you have?

We want you to know, brothers, about the grace of God that has been given among the churches of Macedonia, for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints-- and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us. 2 Corinthians 8:1-5

Dene Ward

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            I sat on the carport today since the spring breeze is still cool, and relatively dry.  I was working on Proverbs with my trusty bodyguards lying at my feet, tails occasionally swishing sand across the concrete.  When we first moved here, twenty-nine years ago now, it was the quietest place we had ever lived.  No neighbors revving up engines of various kinds, no traffic on the highway, certainly no sirens wailing in the air.  In the past two or three weeks alone, I have heard sirens three times, which is about as many times as I heard them the whole 29 years before.  People are moving here to have what we have, and in the process, destroying it.

            But that morning I was suddenly struck by how quiet it was—not exactly like all those years ago, but close.  I sat still and really listened; half a dozen different birds sounds, chirps, tweets, squawks, caws, shrieks, and crows; wings flapping in the oaks; a June bug buzzing over our heads in the sycamore,  two planes droning overhead, one a jet and the other a single-engine prop; hummingbirds humming and squeaking at the feeder; a semi roaring faintly down the highway to the west beyond the woods, hitting the speed bumps a good half mile away with a rhythmic brrrrump—brrrrump--brump, brump, brump. 

            Even the dogs seemed to realize how quiet things were, and they sat there with me, watching and listening.  Amazing things happen when you sit quietly and just listen.  A limb, evidently weakened by age and a recent wind, suddenly cracked and fell just up the driveway, a little flock of sparrows landed barely two feet off the concrete slab, hopping around on the ground as if totally unaware that a human and two dogs were nearby; a pileated woodpecker suddenly swooped down across the drive and landed on the water oak trunk and began pecking for his lunch; a lizard crept out onto the steps and puffed out his red balloon of a throat when he suddenly realized we were there, and a black and yellow swallowtail butterfly landed on an azalea limb close enough for me to see its spots.

            I have heard that Abraham Lincoln was fond of saying, “Better to be quiet and thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”  I didn’t realize that he was paraphrasing one of the proverbs:  Even a fool when he holds his peace is counted as wise; when he shuts his lips, he is esteemed as prudent, 17:28.  I suppose Lincoln’s version was a bit more colorful, but you get the point.  Amazing things can happen when you keep your mouth shut.  People may actually think you are wise!

            Someone else has also noted that when your mouth is open, your ears stop working, which is just a cute way of saying that when you are talking you can’t listen, and most of us need to do much more listening than talking.  I would guess that the majority of times we find ourselves in hot water it is because we talked when we should have been quiet.  Is there a problem in the home?  At work?  With a neighbor?  Look back in your mind and ‘listen’ to what happened.  Amazing things can happen when you listen.   You will probably see that it all began with a word NOT fitly spoken.  As James said:  Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak and slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not work the righteousness of God, 1:19,20.

            Listening is also a good way to serve others.  Don’t be so quick to give advice unless it is specifically asked for.  Don’t be so quick to take over the conversation with how you handled something similar.  Amazing things can happen when you listen.  By having a sympathetic listener, many people can figure their way out of problems on their own, and they will be so grateful for your “help.” 

            Ahem, men—she doesn’t want you to fix it, she just wants you to listen.  You will become her hero.  Truly amazing things can happen if you just listen.

            And always listen to God.  Too many times we are explaining ourselves to him instead.  Imagine that.  This is God we are talking about and we feel the need to explain something to him?  Listen instead.  Maybe the problem is we don’t want to hear what he has to say to us.  So if you do answer back, listen to that too.  You might realize your error and repent.  

            Amazing things can happen when you sit quietly and listen.

And Moses said, the Lord God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers.  You shall listen to him in whatever he tells you.  And it shall be that every soul who does not listen to that prophet shall be destroyed from the people, Acts 3:22,23.

Dene Ward