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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

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Today’s post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! OR ELSE! 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 it 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. Too often we keep one foot in the pleasures and proclaim, “I am making progress.”

JUST SAY NO. STOP!

OR PERISH.

Keith Ward

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A few weeks ago, Satan finished what he started three years ago and stole my identity.  I have packed up the last of my teaching supplies: sheet music, collections, method books, assignment notebooks, theory books, technique books, concerti, history notebooks, listening labs, computer disk theory games, stickers, rhythm instruments, home made music bingo games, magic slates with grand staffs permanently imprinted on them, even my old textbook How to Teach Piano Successfully.  I have sent them on to a young piano teacher in Ohio, who is just starting out.

            I had a weepy moment or two.  This part of my life—35 years worth plus all those years learning--is definitely over now.  There is no going back; I simply cannot see the music any longer.  But I am happy to know that these things will be put to good use—that other little children will learn with them, and that a young preaching couple will have a bit more coming in to help out with a skimpy income.  But for a moment the large empty space under my piano made me feel invisible. 

            I am no longer the piano and voice teacher in Union County. 

            I no longer open my doors every afternoon to excited little faces, making sure that grubby little hands are washed before touching the keys, but still picking up every ailment my students brought my way, including parvo once, for goodness sake!  It must have been all the hugs. 

            I am no longer playing at weddings half a dozen times a year.  I am no longer meeting with my fellow teachers once or twice a month, serving as association officer or chairman of this committee or that. 

            I no longer take a dozen students to various competitions, crying with them for their losses and cheering for their wins.  I no longer spend hours on themed spring programs, gathering up suitable music, matching it to each student’s personality, then working out the details, including skits and grand finales. 

            I no longer present high school seniors in debut recitals with formals and tuxes, long-stemmed red roses, and a glittery reception afterward. 

            Satan has stolen all of that from me with this disease.

            It could have been a real problem for me.  I could have sunk into a depression difficult to come out of.  Then I remembered my real identity.

            Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us that we should be called the children of God; and we are, 1 John 3:1.

            Listen my beloved brethren did not God choose those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which he promised to those who love him? James 2:4.

            But you are an elect race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, that you may show forth the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light, 1 Pet 2:9.

            He has granted unto us precious and exceeding great promises, that through these you may become partakers of the divine nature, 
2 Pet 1:4.

            The Spirit bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ, if so be that we suffer with him, that we may also be glorified with him, Rom 8:16,17.

            I still have my identity, and so do you.  It’s the one that counts, the one that Satan cannot steal, the one that will last forever.

Dene Ward

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            I learned as a child in the Florida school system that Juan Ponce de Leon was the first Spanish explorer to land here.  No records are available but he was believed to have been born in July, 1474, and traveled with Columbus as a very young man before ultimately setting off on his own.

            He had heard stories about a magical spring that could cure diseases and make you young again, so he began the search, finally sighting land on March 27, 1513.  A few days later he landed; no one is sure the exact date except that it was “late March.”  The land he set foot on somewhere near St. Augustine was so beautiful he called it Florida.  Spring in Florida is beautiful.  I understand why he was impressed.  If he had landed in July, we would have had a much different name.  (What’s the Spanish word for “oven?”)

            We do have a lot of natural springs in Florida—probably half a dozen within 30 miles of where I sit—but none with the magical powers he looked for.  I can find a Fountain of Youth quite easily, though.  I have it laid out right next to me as I type.  The eternal life promised to the faithful may be the most obvious application of that concept, but I can think of yet another.

            As I watch my grandsons play I find myself remembering my own childhood, realizing as an adult how unfettered it was by worry, pain, and sorrow.  I never for a moment wondered where my next meal was coming from.  I never worried about storms, not even hurricanes.  I never worried about bad people doing bad things to me.  I had a Daddy I trusted implicitly.  He would take care of me.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Once when I was still in early grade school, I had a bad dream.  My Daddy came in and sat on the bed next to me, asking me about the dream and then carefully undoing every worry it had evoked in me.  When he finished I could go back to sleep because of his reassurances.  That’s what Daddies do.

            One morning in first grade I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what now.  But my Daddy noticed that I had tears in my eyes when I got out of the car.  As I stood in front of my classroom, waiting for the bell to ring, I looked up and there he was, striding down the sidewalk.  He had parked the car and come looking for me to make sure I was all right.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Daddies provide.  They protect.  They comfort.  Do you want a Fountain of Youth?  Stop worrying about things you cannot fix.  Stop being afraid of things you cannot handle alone.  Stop wondering how you will manage.  Cast your cares on a Father who loves you.  Once again become a little child who has a Daddy who will always be there, always watching out for your needs and taking care of your problems.  If you don’t have that, it’s only because you insist on ignoring His outstretched hand.  You insist on trying to control everything yourself—as if you were the Daddy. 

            Do you begin your prayers, “Father in Heaven?”  Then act like He is your Father.  Trust Him.  Begin this day with a new exuberance, one born because you have surrendered your cares to Him and finally found the Fountain of Youth.

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, Romans 8:14-16.

Dene Ward

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            Once before I gave you a set of short statements from a class I had taught that I called “Gleanings.”  It was well-received so I thought you might enjoy this latest set from the year and a half we studied faith—65 pages covering every single passage in the Bible that used that word.  It has been a while since I learned so much, and I believe we all left it with knowledge that has impacted our daily walks—and isn’t that the purpose of studying God’s Word in the first place?

            First you must understand how this class works--we use the Word of God to determine the truth, NOT what Mama said, what the preacher says, what I’ve always heard, or what I’m comfortable with.  We learn—which means sooner or later we all completely change our minds about something, and ultimately the way we live our lives.  Light bulbs pop on regularly.

            So here is the latest list of “gleanings,” capsule statements that summarized whole lessons.  As usual feel free to use what you like.  Everything here came directly from specific scriptures.

            Faith is inextricably bound with hope.
            Both faith and hope involve full assurance, not just wishing.
            Faith can fluctuate but should be growing so that even today’s down times are higher than those in the past, maybe even higher than yesterday’s up times, and the fluctuation should gradually decrease.
            More faith is required to handle difficult times.
            Faith can completely stop, but it can also be revived.
            Faith is active and visible in a person’s life.
            There are such things as “works of faith.”
            True faith is accompanied by positive character traits like courage, morality, love, and forgiveness.
            Faith is a continuing condition in life, NOT a single instance that occurs early on and that’s that.
            Faith obeys.
            Faith protects.
            Faith is an asset in difficult times, not a burden.
            We live by our faith—spiritual survival, not physical.
            Faith progresses, i.e, it grows and matures.
            Faith fights and overcomes.
            Faith doesn’t expect Heaven in this life.
            Faith does not equal righteousness, but leads to it.
            Faith responds in obedience.
            Faith involves commitment, trust, reliance and acceptance of things we don’t like or understand.
            Our faith is in a Who not a what.
            Faith has less to do with great courageous feats than with an everyday recognition of God and His plan and His promises, and allowing those things to direct every decision, every action, and every word.
            Faith in God is not just about believing that He exists.  True faith is about becoming like Him.
            “O ye of little faith” was always spoken to his closest disciples.  God expects the most from those who claim the greatest faith.
            True faith is a product of humility.
            “Sound” faith in the New Testament is only applied to people who live sound lives.  A sound church, then, has more to do with how its members live from Monday through Saturday than with how it conducts itself on Sunday mornings or how it spends its money.
            Abraham became the father of the faithful only after decades of growing in that faith until finally he surrendered his life and his need for logic in two statements on Mt Moriah:  God is able (Heb 11:19) and God will provide (Gen 22:8).  He trusted God to do what He had promised whether he understood how or not.

            If you have questions about which scriptures these came from, you can contact me on the left sidebar.

Dene Ward

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            The past few mornings I have heard a dove off in the trees just north of the house.  His call is a distinctive one, and obviously the reason for his name.  He sounds so sad, like he is in mourning for someone he lost.  I don’t believe I have ever heard any other type of call from this particular bird or any other birdcall so sad.

            Then this morning he landed on my feeder.  I have seen doves from a distance.  They like to stay close to the ground, and when they fly they have a distinctive sound in their “take-off.”  I know they are doves even though I cannot see them well. 

            When this one came to eat at our free breakfast bar, I was amused.  He has the fattest breast of any bird I have seen yet, which I suppose explains why there is a dove season, and not a cardinal or blue jay or, certainly not, a titmouse season.  But his head is tiny and round.  He waddled down the feeder, taking his time to eat, then look around, then eat some more.  Rather than mournful, this bird looks pretty happy, I thought, almost like a little feathered clown.

            Isn’t that the dichotomy of a Christian?  We mourn for the state of the world, for the state of the people we care about in this world who have not found their way yet, or worse perhaps, those who had found it but lost it again.  We mourn that our Savior had to suffer because of that, and we mourn yet more because of the part we played in that suffering.  Yet for the same reason, we rejoice.  Because of that suffering, we are free, we are saved, we have hope for what would otherwise be unattainable.

            And because of that, when the griefs of life come our way, we still have joy, even while the tears run down our faces.  Tomorrow our smiles will return.  They are permanently etched there while the tears are only temporary; not just joy amid sorrows, but joy overcoming sorrows.  Enough so that when others look our way, they will be surprised at how unaffected we are by the sadness around us, just like I was surprised by the jaunty little mourning dove. 

Being therefore justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom also we have had our access by faith unto this grace wherein we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we also rejoice in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation works steadfastness, and steadfastness approvedness, and approvedness hope; and hope puts not to shame because the love of God has been shed abroad in our hearts through the Holy Spirit which was given unto us, Rom 5:1-5.

Dene Ward

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            One afternoon many years ago we stopped at an Olive Garden restaurant for a late lunch.  It was about 2:30, and it would be our only meal of the day. The place was nearly empty, so we were seated at a nice table and an eager young waitress, her order pad and pen held at the ready, came to serve us.

            “We’ll start with bruschetta,” I said. 
            “Huh?  Oh!  You mean brush-etta.”
            No, I thought.  I meant what I said, “Brrroo-skeht-ta.”

            Now, you must understand that I had been teaching Italian aria and art song for a couple dozen years at that time.  My students regularly stood before judges who marked them down on mispronounced Italian, so I had studied everything I could, constantly referencing an Italian pronunciation guide, and checking with other teachers who had sung opera.  I knew exactly how to pronounce “bruschetta.”

            I had learned some lessons the hard way.  I remember one especially embarrassing and painful occasion at state contest.  I don’t recall the exact word, but somewhere in it was the letter sequence “g-i-a.”  I had the student pronounce that as two syllables:  “jee-ah.” 

            “That’s not quite right,” the judge said, as nicely as she could.  The i turns the g into a j.  After that, it has done its work, and is not pronounced.  The syllable is simply “jah,” not “jee-ah.”

            Since we’re into Italian food at this point, Let me illustrate it this way:  parmagiana reggiano cheese is pronounced “par-ma-jah-nah reh-jah-no,” NOT “par-ma-jee-ah-nah reh-jee-ah-no,” and that chef named “Giada” is “Jah-da,”  NOT “Jee-ah-dah.”  Pay attention sometime when she says her name herself. 

            Now here is my point:  who should I listen to about how to pronounce Italian—a college student moonlighting at a chain restaurant or the voice judge, a woman who has sung on the operatic stage many years longer than that waitress has been alive, singing Italian for hours at a time, and who can even translate it?

            How do you choose whom to listen to?  Who gets your vote for the one to take advice from?  Is it someone your own age who has as little experience as you do?  Is it perhaps someone older, but whose only qualification in your mind is that s/he is “fun” and “cool,” and a whole lot more so than the other old fuddy-duddies?  Is it someone who gives you the answers you want, who makes everything easy, even things that are not and should not be easy? Is it someone who makes you laugh?  Is it someone who speaks in “bumper sticker?”  Or is it someone who has experienced the ups and downs of life and come through it sane and faithful, someone who may not be able to keep an audience’s attention but can tell you from a heart of concern exactly what you need to hear—whether or not it’s what you want to hear?  Most important of all—is it someone who knows the Word of God inside out and has stuck with it even when it made his own life difficult, who tells you what God says, not what he thinks or feels?

            Mispronouncing Italian is no big deal in most of our lives, but mispronouncing the Word of God can cost you your soul.

Listen to advice and accept instruction that you may be wise in your latter end, Prov 19:20.

Dene Ward

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            It must be a sign of age.  I find myself reminiscing a lot more lately.  When we walked the property with Lucas last Thanksgiving we talked more about the past than the present.  Certainly more than the future—which for us is suddenly so much smaller than the past.

            “Remember the wild myrtles by the fire pit?”
            “Yes, we sometimes hung a tarp on the branches so we could scoot under it and have a hot dog roast even in a drizzle.”

            “Remember the pine tree in the field?”
            “Yep.  That was first base.”

            “Remember how small these oak trees used to be?”
            “Yes.  I used to climb up limbs that are too rotten to trust any longer, what there are left of them.”

            I remember wondering what it would be like after the boys were grown, when we were living here alone in a quiet house and an empty yard.  No more wondering, only remembering.

            I have said to more than one who came seeking advice that looking back on our past can be helpful.  If you despair at ever becoming the Christian you ought to be, look where you were ten years ago.  Can you see any improvement?  Can you say to yourself, “I don’t act that way now,” about anything at all?  God meant for us to be encouraged, and I find nothing in the scriptures telling me I can’t take a moment every now and then to check my progress and use it as a gauge, both to spur myself on if I see none, and to invigorate my growth with any positive impetus it gives me.

            Many times we quote Paul’s comment to the Philippians, “Forgetting the things that are behind…” (3:13). In fact, I have heard preachers say we shouldn’t think about the past at all.  But Paul didn’t believe that.  He remembered all his life where he started, “the chief of sinners,” 1 Tim 1:16.  He used that memory to keep himself humble before others and grateful to God for the salvation granted him. It bolstered his faith enough to endure countless hardships and persecutions.  As a “chief sinner” he could hardly rail against God for the tortures he suffered when he knew he deserved so much more.

            God has always wanted his people to remember the past.  I lost count of the passages in Deuteronomy exhorting Israel to remember that they were slaves in a foreign country, and that God loved them enough to deliver them with His mighty hand.  Here is a case, though, where the reminding didn’t work as it did for Paul.  Still, God tried.  What is the Passover, but a reminder of their deliverance from Egypt?  What is the Feast of Tabernacles but a reminder of His care for them in the wilderness?  What was the pot of manna in the Ark of the Covenant, the stones on the breastplate of the ephod, and the pile of rocks by the Jordan but the same?  “Remember, remember, remember!” God enjoined.  It’s how we use that memory that makes it right or wrong.

            Paul says we are to remember what we used to be.  “And such were some of you,” he reminds the Corinthians in chapter 6, after listing what we consider the worst sins imaginable.  You “were servants of sin” he reminds the Romans in 6:17.  You once walked “according to the course of this world,” “in vanity of mind,” “in the desire of the Gentiles,” and in a host of other sins too numerous to list (Eph 2:2; 4:17; 1 Pet 4:3; Col 3; Titus 3.)  Those memories should spur us on in the same way they prodded Paul.  Nothing is too hard to bear, too much to ask, or too difficult to overcome if we remember where we started.  Be encouraged by your growth and take heart.

            And then this: let your gratitude be always abounding, overflowing, and effusive to a God who loves us in whatever state we find ourselves, as long as that growth continues.

Therefore remember that at one time you Gentiles in the flesh, called "the uncircumcision" by what is called the circumcision, which is made in the flesh by hands-- remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ, Ephesians 2:11-13.

Dene Ward

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[This was written a few years ago after a serious surgery with even more serious complications.  Just so you have the proper context…]

            When I was little and listened to the sick list at church, no matter where we went, there was always someone who was “chronically ill.”   All that meant to me was they were never at church.  I couldn’t fathom an illness that never got any better, that gave you good days and bad days, that made you careful not to “overdo” because of the adverse effects that might have on you.  Now I understand, and wish I didn’t.

            I no longer have any social life--my doctor is my social life.  I see more of him than any of my brothers and sisters in the Lord.  I talk on the phone more to his office help than to church folks.  I spend more hours sitting in his examining chair than I do in a pew.  In fact, they ought to rent me a room there. 

            And I know this will take a toll on my spirituality.  It becomes more and more difficult to keep a good attitude.   While I certainly have more time to study, not having a current class to prepare to teach makes it less a priority and easy to put off, especially when reading is so difficult.  Helping others is nearly impossible, especially when you don’t even know what’s going on with the brethren any more.  So yes, my spirituality is suffering.  I struggle to keep it every day.  But the circumstances cannot be helped.

            What I do not understand is people who do this to themselves on purpose:  those who darken the meetinghouse door only enough to keep the elders and deacons off their backs, and leave while the last amen is still echoing down the hall; who never take advantage of the extra Bible studies held in homes, a safe place to ask questions without embarrassment and learn from those who have wisdom and experience in life; who avoid all the social gatherings of the church scheduled between the services, while regularly finding time to be with friends in the world, not to teach, but simply to socialize; who never have a Bible lesson prepared—that’s only for the children—who never attend a wedding or funeral so they can “weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice,” those who are healthy enough to jog, to play tennis, to hunt or fish, to go to ball games and sit in the hot sun for hours cheering, but simply do not want more than they consider the bare minimum to get by as a Christian. 

            Here is the problem with that:  there is no such thing as the bare minimum.  If Satan can get you to believe that lie, he has sabotaged any chance you have to make it to Heaven.  God expects us to give our all, no matter how much that may be; more for some, less for others, depending upon the circumstances of life.  It is difficult enough when the minimum IS your maximum, but doing that to yourself on purpose will only make you miserable in both lives, this one and the one to come.

            The early Christians understood that they were spiritual lifelines for each other; they would not let go for anyone or anything.  They spent time together, strengthening one another from the beginning, and because of that they were able to withstand horrors we can only imagine.  If you wait till the horror is upon you to reach out for that lifeline, it is probably too late.

And all that believed were together and had all things common…And day by day continuing steadfastly with one accord in the Temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they took their food with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people.  And the Lord added to them day by day those that were saved, Acts 2:44,46,47.

Dene Ward