While my students did win solo awards in piano solo, art song, and musical theater, our specialty seemed to be piano ensembles.  The point of an ensemble is not just to play the right notes at the right time, but to make a piano duet sound like one person with four hands and a trio like one person with six.  Not an easy thing to do when one partner plays with a heavy hand and the other with light finger work, one with the ebb and flow of rubato and the other the steadiness of a machine.

My teacher friends laughed at me when they saw all my students make a point to approach the piano together, sit at the same time, put their hands on and off the keys at the same time, then stand together and leave together.  I guess they never thought about whose students were bringing back trophies and whose weren’t.  The point of all that togetherness was to infuse oneness into them.  Your performance starts from the moment your names are called; that single four- or six-handed creature acted as one from then till they hit their seats in the audience afterward.

The performance aspects were trickier.  Who has the melody?  Does the partner have a counter-melody or an oom-pah-pah chordal accompaniment?  Does the partner enter with the same melody a few bars later?  How can the one with the steady underlying rhythm make it stable enough to help the syncopated partner, without overpowering him?  Are the dynamics terraced or interlaced?  How each partner plays his part depends upon the answer to all those questions.  What a lot to remember and listen for. 

I had one duo that excelled at all of this.  They played together for ten years and by the time the older graduated from high school, I was positive they were even breathing in sync while they performed.  They played pieces where one partner got up, walked around the piano and sat down to play again; then later in the piece got up and went back to his original position, all without stopping, without errors, and without one of them falling off the bench!  They played pieces where the one higher on the keyboard picked up his hand and put it between the other’s two hands and then continued playing, without a hitch.  If you were not watching, you would not know anything had happened.  Once they played a piece where one’s left hand was on the black keys above the other’s right hand on the white keys, and they never once got in each other’s way.  Now that’s teamwork.  (Did I mention that Nathan was one of the partners?)

Perfecting the piece was not enough for them.  They even created entrances, with both walking down opposite aisles exactly together and approaching the judges’ bench from opposite directions with a flourish precisely at the same time in the middle of the front row.  At the end of the piece they each crossed the outside hand to bounce off the last note with the inside hand, and held their hands up for exactly the same three count—non-verbally.  They simply knew each other that well.

And I remember my baby duet.  A little stepbrother and -sister act in the Primary 1 category performing “O Susanna.”  When one had the melody the other played softer; when the other came in with the melody, the first one pulled her tone way down almost instinctively, and then back up again when it was her turn.  These were 8 year olds, mind you, and it was flawless, seamless, and so amazing the judges looked at each other as soon as it happened.  I knew then we had it, and sure enough, we did.

That is what teamwork is all about.  You know that old coach’s saying, “There is no I in team?”  Unfortunately, many people still manage to spell “me,” and the team is never as unified as it could be.  Teamwork means doing what is best for the group.  It means constantly putting someone else ahead of me.  It means making an objective judgment of what is most important at a given time and not forcing my issues to the forefront if they are less critical than another’s.  It means not complaining if I don’t have the lead and trying to horn my way in anyway.  It means not whining when I don’t get the praise I think I deserve.  If one of my students had said, “I don’t care if I don’t have the melody.  I am just as important as her, so I’m playing my chords just as loudly,” they would have never won anything.  In fact, they would never have gotten a superior at the district level and not made it to the state competition.  What’s best for me will very often ruin it for everyone else.  And we all need to have that feeling.   If we do, no one feels left out or unappreciated. 

Why is it that we cannot see these things when we are the ones involved?  Are we really so dense?  Is it pride?  Is it arrogance?  Is it our rights-oriented society?  Whatever it is, we need to get over it, so the church can once again make known the manifold wisdom of God, Eph 3:10, and we, through our unity, can cause the world to believe, John 17:21.

Doing nothing through faction or through vainglory, but in lowliness of mind, each counting other better than himself, not looking each of you to his own things, but each of you also to the things of others.  Phil 2:3,4     

Dene Ward

Last spring, just like every spring for the past 37 years, we planted the garden. That early in the year, the heat is not bad, the humidity is low, and the sub-tropical sun leaves us with only a moderate sunburn.  We came in with dirty clothes and aching backs, sat down together, leaned forward with crossed fingers on each hand held tightly at our temples, squeezed our eyes shut and said, “I hope, I hope, please, please, please grow.” 

Do you for one minute believe that?  No, we counted five days ahead, and then went out that evening and looked for what we were sure would be there, seedlings poking their heads through the clods of earth, and sure enough, there they were.

Our definition of hope is very much as I described, like a couple of middle school girls who “hope” a certain cute boy will look their way, or a teacher will change the due date on a big project, or a “mean” girl won’t spread some sort of embarrassing news about them.  “Please, please, please, maybe, maybe, maybe.”  That is not the Bible definition of hope. 

I knew that, but I am not sure how much I really understood it until I did a study on hope and found passage after passage that made it abundantly clear.

…Waiting for our blessed hope, Titus 2:13.  That’s “waiting” like waiting for the bus at the regular stop, not like you just walked out one morning with absolutely no knowledge of the city transit system, sat down on the side of the road and “hoped” you had guessed right.

…The full assurance of hope, Heb 6:11, not just a hint that it might be possible, but completely sure it will happen.

Hope is a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, Heb 6:19.  How would you like to use the hope we often express as a “maybe” as your anchor in the middle of a storm?

…Hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised, Titus 1:2. 

Peter says that our salvation is “ready to be revealed,” 1 Pet 1:5, a salvation he makes synonymous to the “hope” in verse 3.  It’s like a portrait on an easel covered by a satin cloth, just waiting for the unveiling.  God has prepared that salvation “from the foundation of the world,” Matt 25:34.  No one is up there still hammering away on the off chance it might be ready when you need it.  It is already there, available whenever the Lord decides to give it.  Sure.  Certain.  There is nothing cross-your-fingers “maybe, maybe, maybe,” about it.

Farming is tricky enough with weather, pests, and plant diseases abounding.  If a man had to wonder whether or not a seed would sprout where he planted it, who would ever even try?  Paul uses that very example in 1 Cor 9:10: for our sake it was written that he who plows ought to plow in hope, and he who threshes to thresh in hope of partaking.

Our hope is like planting seeds.  They will come up, and it will come about.  It’s time we left middle school behind with its string of maybes, and became adults who understand the assuredness of our hope, and then use that certainty to strengthen us in whatever situations life holds.

Now our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God our Father who loved us and gave us eternal comfort and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts and establish them in every good work and word,  2 Thessalonians 2:16-17.

Dene Ward

I ran a piano and voice studio off and on—between babies and moves—for 37 years, the last 23 in a row in one place with no “offs.”  I entered my students into several evaluations and competitions a year.  About 20 years ago, I discovered a state competition for students who made “superior” ratings at the district level.  I asked around and two well-meaning teachers told me that I needn’t bother taking my students because no one from Union County could possibly win.  Winners usually came from the Miami area, students of retired concert artists, students with a concert career in mind, willing to practice for several hours a day.

Always looking for motivation, at my next student meeting I told them about the competition and passed along the opinions, “Your students can’t possibly win.”  Their reaction began with head-shaking confusion followed by red-faced indignation, and finally, steely-eyed determination.  From that point on they had a mission.

Unfortunately, our first trip proved my friends correct.  We won absolutely nothing.  Besides the disadvantages I mentioned before, the groups we competed in were sometimes as large as 80 with only one winner and three or four honorable mentions chosen from “superior” rated students all across the state.  But they did not give up—they learned to do better.   

And sure enough, the next year we had a winner.  Every year after that we brought home at least one winner, and one year we outdid every other group in the state:  nine students with performance wins (one of whom was my son Nathan), three state officers elected, including state vice-president and president (Nathan), and a $200 summer music camp scholarship winner (did I mention that Nathan won that?). 

How did they manage this?  Things that had never made any difference to them at all suddenly became important.  We taped their performances at lessons and they would sit and pick themselves apart—I seldom said a word.  All of a sudden they could hear that their tempo was not steady, that their melody got lost in the underlying harmonies, that their dynamic shading was practically nonexistent; that their vocal placement was wrong, that their diphthongs were too wide, that their tone was unsupported. 

Most importantly I think, this group became a team.  Several times during the year the students listened to one another and gave critiques.  The ones performing did not let their pride get in the way because someone was telling them they were not perfect—they were anxious to hear how to do better, and after the taping exercise, realized that we do not all see (or hear) ourselves correctly.  And it worked.  They began to win.  And success breeds success.

They even came up with their own uniforms—black pants or skirt, white shirt, and Looney Tunes tie.  This little outfit started with just one duet team and gradually spread.  It finally got to the point where new students were asking me when they got their “uniforms.”  And whenever a child was without something—especially the tie, which some had trouble finding--there would be the “passing of the ties” between rooms and events as they raced to perform, so that no one would be without.  It was amazing to me to see this happen among children, with no prompting whatsoever. The last few years as I sat in the audience, I heard other parents and teachers around me saying, “Uh-oh.  They’re from the group with the ties,” as one of my ensembles approached the piano.  Even the ones who never won anything viewed the “outfit” as a badge of honor.  It meant they belonged to a group who did win, and that meant they won, too.

Do I really need to make an application here?  What if the church acted like this group of children?    What if we all had the attitude, “Please tell me how to do better?”  “Please tell me exactly what I’m doing wrong.”  What if we all “rejoiced with those who rejoiced” instead of becoming envious?  What if we all viewed being a part of the Lord’s body as an honor?  What if we all looked Satan right in the face and said, “I can too do it!”  And then did.

There should be no schism in the body; but the members should have the same care one for another.  And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; or if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it.  Now YOU are the body of Christ and each is a member of it.  1 Cor 12:25-27

Dene Ward

A long time ago, a couple entrusted their two teenage daughters to us while they worked away from the area for six months.  I was 29 years old at the time, and 7 or 8 years from having teenagers of my own.  I doubt we really knew what we were getting into, but we agreed and did our best. 

Having someone give the care of their children into your hands for more than just a couple of hours is terrifying.  I think we probably made even stricter decisions than we did with our own children when the first one hit that milestone age of 13 several years later.  This isn’t like borrowing a lawn mower, or even a luxury automobile—these were souls we were asked to look after, in some of their most important years.

Those girls are grown now, even older than we were when they lived with us.  In spite of those six months, they turned out very well, as have their own children.  I doubt it had anything to do with us, but you had better believe that we were on our toes far more in those six months than at any other time in our lives.  Still, we made mistakes, but it wasn’t for lack of praying and considering before we did anything.

I am sure you can understand how we felt.  Here’s the thing, as a famous TV detective is wont to say:  all of us who are parents are given Someone Else’s kids to care for.  All souls are mine, God said in Ezek 18:4.  The Hebrew writer calls Him “the Father of spirits” in 12:9, the same word he uses in verse 23, “the spirits of just men made perfect.”  God is the Father of all souls, including those children of His He has entrusted to our care.  How careful should we be about raising them?

I have seen too many parents who are more concerned with their careers, with their personal “fulfillment,” and their own agendas.  They want children because that is what you do, the thing that is expected by society, and a right they feel they must exercise, not because they want to spend the time it takes to care for them.  “I’m too busy for that,” they say of everything from nursing and potty training to teaching them Bible stories and their ABCs.  When you decide to take on the privilege of caring for one of God’s souls, you have obligated yourself to whatever time it takes to do it properly and with the care you would for the most valuable object anyone ever entrusted into your hands.

If realizing that the souls of the children in your home are God’s doesn’t terrify you at least a little bit, you probably aren’t doing a very good job of taking care of them.

And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which you shall command your children to observe to do, even all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life… Deuteronomy 32:46-47.

Dene Ward

When Keith and I are hiking we don’t talk much.  He cannot hear me and I am too busy watching the trail, trying to figure out where to put my foot next.  Occasionally I stop and take a moment to look up, but for the most part all I see is the trail.  Keith is the one who sees the scenery.

Is that fair?  Of course it is.  I’ll tell you why.  While I am looking down, I am hearing the scenery:  the screaming of hawks, the whining call of the yellow-bellied sapsucker, the raucous laugh of the woodpecker and its beak pounding the trunk of a tree, the gentle susurration of leaves in the breeze and their nearly imperceptible fall to their fellows on the thickly padded forest floor, the buzz of deerflies,  the chirring of chipmunks and lower pitched chattering of squirrels, brooks gurgling in the hollows, small waterfalls splashing on rocks at the bottoms of slopes, the fog dripping off of the trees.  Keith cannot hear any of that.  If he doesn’t see it, he misses it. 

But then I also see a lot on the trail that he doesn’t see because he is looking up: a forest floor covered with bright yellow poplar leaves, orange-red persimmon leaves, deep red sumac leaves, and once, a leaf bigger than a platter; rocks of all shapes and sizes, quartz, granite, slate, mica, limestone; holes and burrows at the edge of the trail and just off to the side in hollow tree trunks; and once, a wasp digging a hole, laying its eggs, then burying another insect it had paralyzed with its venom on top of the eggs, so its young would have food to eat when they hatched.  Have you ever seen that?

Many years ago Keith and I used to joke that one day I would hear when someone knocked on the door and he would go see who it was.  That someday is getting closer and closer.  But over the years we have adapted.  We have adapted to things you probably never even thought about.  Do you talk at night after the lights are out?  We can’t.  Keith cannot hear anything without his hearing aids, and needs light to read my lips.  Do you banter back and forth while you work together?  No, Keith has to be closely watching my mouth to know what I am saying.  Do you call to one another from separate rooms in the house?  Well, you get the idea.  We have lived this way for so many years we don’t even give it a second thought any more.

On this past trip we had more things to adapt to.  I usually read the maps and navigate while he drives.  I cannot read a map any more without two or three magnifiers, and time to focus and concentrate.  This time we took out the map the night before we left.  Keith read the road numbers and cities, and I wrote them on a sheet of paper in large letters.  We made our trip just fine, and we always will.  You know what?  Other people have it just as rough, or even worse.

Do you remember that old hymn that goes, “Every day I’m camping toward Canaan’s happy land?”  Just like the Israelites, we live in a dangerous wilderness.  We never know what lies before us.  Anything can happen, and often does.  So life is about change.  It is about adapting to your circumstances.  If we ever think it is about us deciding how things will turn out, we will be sorely disappointed.  And if this life is so important that we let ourselves become miserable because it isn’t what we expected, have we really learned the lesson about priorities?  Do we really believe that it is not even a drop in the bucket compared to Eternity?  Is our faith so weak we must have everything perfect now (according to our definitions of perfection) in order to believe in a perfect Heaven? 

Things are not easy for the two of us.  We do have days when we wonder why all this has happened.  But we strive to remember that our lives are a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away, James 4:14.  These momentary problems will vanish as well.  I think James meant that to be a warning, but let it be a comfort to you as well.  Some day we will leave the wilderness and arrive in a Promised Land.  Everything will be better in the end.

Now I rejoice in the Lord greatly…for I have learned in whatever state I am to be content.  I know how to be abased and I know also how to abound; in everything and in all things have I learned the secret both to be filled and to be hungry, both to abound and to be in want:  I can do all things through him who strengthens me, Phil 4:10-13. 

Dene Ward

We have a saying:  “It’s all downhill from here,” meaning the hard part is over, and the rest is easy.  So this will surprise you:  walking a mountain trail is much more difficult going downhill than it is going uphill.  I know it does not make any sense, but every time we hike, we learn the lesson yet again. 

Going uphill will strain your hamstrings and Achilles tendons with every step.  Your pulse and respiration will rise.  But as long as you have the breath to, you can keep going at a steady clip.

Going downhill, however, will do a number on your quads—not just with each step, but constantly because even on a smooth slope they will be in continuous braking mode so that your speed does not get ahead of your feet.  Where nature has made steps in the form of boulders or tree roots, they never match your foot or leg length, and are as steep as the rungs of a ladder.  You wind up grabbing a tree to go one step at a time, sometimes backwards like a real ladder, or sitting on the rocks sliding down one at a time—unless you are as young and agile as a mountain goat.  Even then, one slip in a downhill run could see you topple head over heels for twenty or thirty feet which, by the way, would be the only way to make any real time going downhill.  If you slow to two miles per hour going uphill, you will be lucky to make one going down.

Satan will always get you when you least expect it.  When life is good, when trials are over—for today at least—and we let our guards down, we will get to going too fast, speaking faster than we can think, reacting faster than self-control can kick in.  And there we go, tumbling down the hill like Jill tumbling after Jack, who broke his “crown,” by the way.  And what will happen to ours?

So when life is easy, when suddenly the ascent levels out or even begins a downward slope, be careful.  You can still take a nasty fall that lasts longer than you would have ever imagined.

Now these things happened unto them by way of example, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages are come.  Wherefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall, 1 Cor 10:11, 12.

Dene Ward

THE LAND BEYOND THIS POINT IS WILDERNESS—TRAVEL WITH CAUTION

This sign greeted us as we headed out that morning.  On the board next to it were other warnings about bears, snakes, poisonous plants and insects, and one that said, “Between October 11 and May 1 hikers should wear bright colors.  Whistling is also recommended.”  Various hunting seasons began and ended during that period, bow hunting, black powder, rifle and shotgun, used during the various game seasons.

Still we hiked on.  We had seen all these warnings before in the many years we have camped and hiked.  The only dangerous game we’d ever seen was the back end of a black bear as he plodded steadily away from us—the best view of a bear there is in my opinion.  Still we were careful.

The wilderness can be a scary place if you are careless or arrogant.  Besides the bears, snakes, and panthers, paths follow the edges of steep precipices with no guardrails should you lose your footing.  Limbs litter them, having died, rotted, and fallen at a slight breeze.  Once one fell not ten seconds after I had walked that particular spot.  Runs drivel down the slopes, ready to rush into a flash flood should a rain come up, as it often does.  It does not take much to remind you how helpless you are.

Keith says that one of the Louis L’Amour westerns tells of travelers leaving piles of rocks to the Native American gods of the trail.  No one with an open mind can spend any time in the outdoors without recognizing that it took Divine Intelligence to create it.  Twice we passed piles of stones laid on boulders or stumps, a hundred or more, some carefully positioned on end, so they did not just happen to roll there.  Our society, I have heard, has gotten more spiritual as of late, but why has that spirituality turned toward paganism like the gods of the trail, instead of Jehovah God?  Is it more interesting, more fun?  Or is it that paganism carries no moral responsibility to its gods other than a token nod to their supposed existence?

Jehovah God expects certain behavior from us.  He requires our service.  He demands our lives.  And He deserves so much more. 

Some day soon take a walk in the wilderness, or even just your backyard, and let it teach you all about Him.

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hinder the truth in unrighteousness; because that which is known of God is manifest in them.  For the invisible things of him since the creation of the world are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even his everlasting power and divinity, that they may be without excuse; because that, knowing God, they glorified him not as God, neither gave thanks, but became vain in their reasoning, and their senseless heart was darkened.  Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for the likeness of an image of corruptible man, and of birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things.  Wherefore God gave them up…Rom 1:18-24

Dene Ward

Our hike took us to the top of a mountain and back, and several times over a creek or brook, none more than a foot or two deep, but plenty deep enough to get cold and wet if there had been no bridge.

The first bridge was a wooden plank affair with handrails, nothing fancy, but solidly constructed.  We walked across it without thinking about it one way or the other—it was a bridge, it filled the need.

The next “bridge” was a bit more challenging.  Large stones led across the brook and kept your feet dry as long as you kept your balance.  But the stones were solidly set and not slippery, so aside from having to think where to put your foot on each one, it was not too difficult.  Still, it did take some thought.

The next also had stepping stones, but these were wetter, which meant slicker, and one teetered when you put your weight on it.  If not for my trusty trekking poles, I would have had wet feet, if not something a bit larger wet as well.

Then came the fourth “bridge.”  Even Keith made a noise when he saw it up ahead.  The Georgia Department of Natural Resources had laid four logs across the brook.  Not flat planks, mind you, but rounded logs;  not large logs, but more like fence posts—small fence posts;  not tied together, but each about four inches apart, just far enough for a foot to slip through.  With my weak ankles and poor vision, they might just as well have asked me to walk a tightrope. 

Keith said, “Had you rather get wet?”

I did not dignify that with an answer.  I just started across—slowly sliding my feet an inch or two at a time.  Don’t tell me that the faster you go, the easier it is.  You are talking to a klutz, remember, a half-blind one at that!  Those seven or eight feet seemed more like seventy or eighty, but I only slipped once, and by then I was close enough to the other side that Keith could reach out and steady me. 

As we continued on I reflected on the fact that the “bridges” were getting less and less like real bridges, and was pondering what might come next.  One log that rolled as you walked?  I found myself praying, stepping stones please, even ones that teeter, but no more logs!

Funny how a hurdle you manage later in life makes the earlier ones seem so much smaller.  But which of us would begin weight training with a 200 pound weight or run a marathon the first time we ever jogged? 

Don’t you know that our Father is watching out for us?  A life without any trials would leave us weaklings.  But He is careful:  the first bridge we cross will make us strong enough for the second, and the second for the third, and so on throughout our lives.

As it turns out those four logs were the last bridge on our trail.  God knows which bridge is the most difficult we can manage at any given time.  Especially the last one.

There has no temptation taken you but such as man can bear; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that you are able, but will with the temptation make also the way of escape that you may be able to endure it, 1 Cor 10:13.

Dene Ward

The first day of our camping trip we warmed up with a one mile nature trail labeled “easy, a half hour walk.”  And it was.  The trail was wide and smooth, the grades so minimal you “stepped” up rather than climbing.  Many educational signs along the way gave you a natural respite as you stopped to read.  We were shocked when it ended so soon, and we—meaning me, mainly—had energy to spare.

So the next morning we set out on the trail labeled “moderate—four hours travel time.”  Either “moderate” has changed meaning or the past two years have taken more out of me than I thought.  Most of this trail ran either straight up or straight down, with stone “steps” matching the natural rise or drop of a six foot or more man, not a five-four or less woman.  Rocks and tree roots paved the way, except for a few places lined with slick wet leaves just begging for a big piece of cardboard so you could sled down them.  But for women my age, anything even resembling a fall is to be avoided at all costs no matter how much fun it might look like.

Three and a half hours later we emerged from the woods, puffing and panting.  Every muscle below waist level ached.  I hit the camp chair with an Aleve and a cold soda.  If this was their idea of moderate, I did not think I was quite up to the one labeled “strenuous, more than a full day’s hike.”

So why do I put myself through this?  I could give you a lot of answers.  After a hike like that, pure water tastes like nectar.  Food is delicious, even the simple fare cooked over a campfire.  Crawling into a warm sleeping bag is heaven and you sleep like the proverbial log.  When you stay busy and wear yourself out with it, you enjoy even the simplest pleasures far more, and griping about your lot in life is no longer even in your vocabulary, at least for a day.  I am sure you can make that application for yourself.

But also, I made up my mind several years ago that as long as I could, I would, because the longer you do, the longer you can.  I am trying now to apply that to everything, not just hiking.  It is one thing to grow old gracefully.  It is another to lie down and die at a time of my choosing instead of God’s, when there is plenty more for me to do, even if I must be a little creative and extra-observant to see it.  Growing old gracefully may mean that when you come steaming along behind me, I give you room to pass, but don’t expect me to completely step off the trail out of your way!

I find it unfortunate that the translators chose the word “talent” as in “The Parables of…” in Matthew 25.  It creates a mindset that has us deciding whether or not we are capable of doing things.  Those pieces of money do not represent “talents” as in abilities.  Jesus himself said the talents (money) were distributed “according as each had ability,” so they cannot be the same thing.  Those pieces of money represent opportunities.  God gives us opportunities according to our abilities.  He will not give us opportunities we do not have the ability to handle.  We have no right to say, “I don’t have the talent (ability) to take this opportunity.”  God knows we do or He would not have sent it.

The same is true as we age or become disabled, and grow physically weaker.  God may give us fewer opportunities, opportunities that are not as showy or public—like picking up the phone to call a shut-in, giving a word of encouragement, or simply being a consistent example of faith and endurance.  But whatever the opportunity, He expects us to take advantage of it.  God expects us all to live by this motto:  As long as I can, I do.     

And having gifts differing according to the grace that was given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of our faith; or serving, let us give ourselves to our service; or he who teaches to his teaching; or he who encourages to his encouraging, or he who gives let him do it with liberality; he who rules with diligence, he who shows mercy with cheerfulness, Rom 12: 6-8.

Dene Ward

We have just returned from the first “normal” camping trip we have been able to take in four years.  “Normal” means we camped in the mountains for five days and we hiked.  Those quotation marks mean we carried a pile of medications and a doctor’s letter explaining my problems, along with three cards detailing all the hardware in my eyes.  They also mean I was careful not to overdo it. 

Because of all this, Keith bought me a pair of trekking poles from an outfitter.  At first I thought he had spent an exorbitant amount of money for two sticks.  Then I used them.  With two repaired Achilles tendons and reduced vision, my usual klutziness on mountain trails has increased exponentially.  My ankles easily turn and twist on rocks and roots, and I trip over anything that sticks up even half an inch off the ground simply because I cannot see it.

But these poles made all the difference in the world.  The cork handles conform to your fingers with a knob that keeps them from sliding, and a flat top on which your thumb rests and from which you can help yourself with a little boost.  Two straps wrap around your wrists—if you somehow lose hold of a pole, you do not even need to bend over to pick it up.  With just a twist you can shorten or lengthen them, not just to suit your particular height, but whether you are going uphill or downhill as well.

I did not stumble once.  I did not twist either ankle.  Keith did not need to drag me up a single hill or catch me as I rolled down one.  And we made what was labeled a four hour hike in just three and a half.

I am not too proud to say I used trekking poles.  Should you make a habit of hiking even once or twice a year, you should get some too, especially if, like me, Grace is not your middle name.  It’s no shame to need a little help once in awhile.  In fact, I am told avid mountaineers who could hike rings around me backwards and blindfolded use these things.

So why are we so ashamed to ask for help spiritually?  Why is it such a big deal to admit we might be wrong about something or have a fault?  Why is advice from those who are more experienced seldom sought and even less often taken?  Why are we always letting our pride get in the way of our soul’s salvation?  Even the strong need a hand once in a while. 

Find yourself a pair of friendly poles to make the trek with you.  You will be glad you did, and much more likely to make the end of the trail.

Then came Amalek and fought with Israel in Rephidim.  And Moses said to Joshua, Choose us out men and go out, fight with Amalek; tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the rod of God in my hand.  So Joshua did as Moses had said to him and fought Amalek; and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill.  And it came to pass when Moses held up his hands that Israel prevailed, and when he let down his hands, Amalek prevailed.  But Moses’ hands grew weary; and they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat thereon, and Aaron and Hur held up his hands, the one on the one side and the other on the other side, and Moses’ hands were steady unto the going down of the sun.  And Joshua overwhelmed Amalek and his people…Exodus 17:8-13.

Dene Ward