A couple of centuries ago, Passenger Pigeons were the most widespread bird in North America, estimated to be 25-40% of the entire avian population, roughly three to five billion.  When they passed overhead, the skies darkened for up to an hour, the time it took for one flock to pass by.  Someone said they sounded like a thousand threshing machines, a thousand steamboats, and a thousand trains all at once. They ranged from the Atlantic to the Mississippi River and from the Great Lakes to the southern United States. 
     The birds flew far in their migration and when they returned in the spring, the settlers in the early days of this country jumped for joy—free protein after the near starvation of winter.  The birds flew so low and so thick that you could swing a pole and kill enough for dinner.  With the advent of the telegraph and railroad, the hunting of passenger pigeons by both amateur and professional sportsmen flourished with numbers nearly as many as the birds themselves, until by the mid-1890s, only three captive breeding flocks were left.  On September 1, 1914, the last passenger pigeon, a female named Martha, died at the Cincinnati Zoo.  She was about 29 years old and had never laid a fertile egg.  Efforts to save them had come too late.  (All information courtesy of Audubon, the e-magazine.)
     What are you doing to keep Christianity from going extinct?  Or do you just expect others to do that? 
     Think first about your family.  Are you teaching your children at home, not just expecting them to pick it up in church Bible classes, but spending regular time every day talking to them about God in any and every way possible, praying with them, reading the scriptures to them, helping them to begin to make small decisions that a Christian must eventually make in his life in a much larger way? 
     How about your neighborhood?  Does the man across the fence know you are a Christian?  Does the woman down the street whom you pass as she weeds her flowerbeds, the couple who take a walk every evening on the sidewalk that runs past your house?  Does the friendly cashier know that you are on your way to Bible class and just stopped to pick up a couple of things you forgot?  Does the UPS man know that you are pressure cleaning the sidewalk because you expect some folks to come that night for a study?  Or are you hiding your allegiance to the Lord, and if so, why?
     What happens at work?  Does the boss know that staying late on Wednesday night is not a good option for you?  Does she know that you will miss the company picnic because you will be worshipping God on Sunday?  And maybe more important, do they know they can count on you to work hard and do things right precisely because you are a Christian.  That you won't be making flimsy excuses for missing work, possibly even lying about being sick? 
     Will any of that keep Christianity from going extinct?  Why do you think people ask you about your religion?  Because, as a nurse told us once after several days in the hospital, "There's something different about you."  You'd better believe it will help.
      But for today, just think about your home.  The first step to extinction is when the next generation is lost.  What's happening to yours?
 
And also all that generation were gathered unto their fathers: and there arose another generation after them, that knew not Jehovah, nor yet the work which he had wrought for Israel. And the children of Israel did that which was evil in the sight of Jehovah, and served the Baalim; and they forsook Jehovah, the God of their fathers, who brought them out of the land of Egypt, and followed other gods, of the gods of the peoples that were round about them, and bowed themselves down unto them: and they provoked Jehovah to anger.  And they forsook Jehovah, and served Baal and the Ashtaroth Judg2:10-13.
 
Dene Ward

Chloe doesn’t have much of a sense of smell thanks to her doggie allergies, which alternately cause congestion or a runny nose.  We can throw her a treat and then sit for several minutes unbothered while she searches for it in the grass.  But her sense of hearing must be amazing.
            She can distinguish our car engine all the way from the highway, almost a half mile.  I’ve seen her sit there and watch for Keith for several minutes before he even gets to the gate, before the dogs along the lane begin to bark at his passing because she hears “him” coming.
            And she can hear moles digging underground.  We will be walking along outside when suddenly she stands at point, looking at the grass just ahead of her, then pounces and begins digging, her snout in nearly to her eyeballs as she digs and sniffs (bless her heart, she tries) and searches.  Many times she has brought out the mole and disposed of it.  This year we have had plenty for her to work on.
            Moles are small mammals, insectivores, suited to a subterranean lifestyle.  They have tiny or invisible eyes and ears.  They have the ability to survive in a low oxygen environment by reusing oxygen inhaled aboveground.  That also means they can tolerate the higher levels of carbon dioxide that would poison most mammals.  They avoid each other except in breeding season and fight whenever they do meet.  I couldn’t even find a word for a group of moles.  They aren’t herds or swarms or gaggles or flocks.  Maybe that’s because the word is unnecessary since they never get together.
            Think about all that.  Does it sound familiar?
            Do you know any people with small eyes and ears, many of whom are blind?
             Why do you not understand my speech? [Even] because you cannot hear my word, John 8:43.
            In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. 2 Cor 4:4.
            Do you know a group who reuses old oxygen, failing to bring in any new work to revitalize its heart, poisoning itself in the process?
            …Thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down, Mark 7:13.
            Do you know a group that avoids each other except in season (Sundays) and then fights when they do meet?
            Whence [come] wars and whence [come] fightings among you? [come they] not hence, [even] of your pleasures that war in your members? James 4:1.
            But if you bite and devour one another, take heed that you be not consumed one of another, Gal 5:15.
            If all that sounds like a group you know, even if they call themselves the body of Christ, they are only pretenders.  That is not what he gave his life for.
            I am certain you could come up with other comparisons yourself.  But don’t waste your time on that or you are in danger of becoming one of those moles yourself, festering underground in your own poison.  Just do what you can by being what you ought to be.  Moles are ugly, in more ways than one.  It shouldn’t take much motivation to not become one.
 
"There are those who rebel against the light, who are not acquainted with its ways, and do not stay in its paths. The murderer rises before it is light, that he may kill the poor and needy, and in the night he is like a thief. The eye of the adulterer also waits for the twilight, saying, 'No eye will see me'; and he veils his face. In the dark they dig through houses; by day they shut themselves up; they do not know the light. Job 24:13-16.
 
Dene Ward

We have put up several new feeders and the bird population has exploded.  We see more new kinds and more of them than ever before.  We have also seen a few new bird antics as well.
            Yesterday we looked out in time to see two doves running around the pole from which one of the feeders hangs.  While cardinals and titmice usually fly the four feet up from the ground to the feeders, the doves are content to peck off the ground what falls, and a great deal does.  Pick up the binoculars and watch the seeds fly every time one of the birds “on high” pecks at it.  Meanwhile, down below, the doves revel in the raining plenty.
            Except those two.  For several minutes they chased one another around and around and around that pole, the one trying to shoo the other away from the free meal.  Occasionally the one in front got far enough ahead to stop and peck a seed, but the one behind, running literally ankle deep in food, never got a bite.
            Kind of reminds me of a few Bible classes I have sat in.  Two men wrapped up in their own opinions, chase one another around in circles with their “logic,” and neither one of them get any of the spiritual nourishment being offered that morning.  Or one man desperately tries to have his meal while another of differing opinion cannot allow it and pursues him with “arguments about words.”  In fact, if the man isn’t careful, he will usually be cornered right after class as the chase continues.  Like those two birds I watched that day, neither one is fed, despite the banquet laid right in front of them.
            Paul calls that sort of behavior “carnal” and immature, 1 Cor 3:1-3.  He equates it with orgies and drunkenness, Rom 13:13.  James puts it on a par with “every vile practice,” 3:16.  All of them link quarreling with things like jealousy, envy, hostility, and selfishness.  James even adds murder and adultery to the mix, 4:1-4.  It is one thing to have a spirited discussion of the Scriptures.  It is another entirely to refuse to consider new ideas, clinging to beliefs out of pride or dismissing a point simply because of who presented it, all cloaked in concern for words and their correct meanings while patently ignoring basic spiritual concepts like Divine authority and holiness. 
            Our spiritual meals are presented to help us glorify God, not to exalt ourselves over others.  They are food for the soul, not ammunition for the spiteful.   They are nourishment for the kind, not fodder for the vindictive.  If all we can do is chase one another in circles with the Word of God, we don’t deserve to hold those sacred writings in our hands.
            I laughed at those two stupid doves under my feeder.  Then I just shook my head and sighed.  I have seen too many Christians just like them.
 
For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh, Galatians 5:14-16.

Dene Ward

Judah seems to enjoy his visits our here in the country as much, or maybe more than his big brother.  Like Silas, as soon as his feet hit the cool green grass, he fell in love with going barefoot and ran all over the place.  Since he usually ran me into the ground, I decided that first morning that he could handle walking Chloe with me.  I would have to slow our pace for him, but I was sure his active little legs could handle the distance.
            The boys and I started out ahead and then I called Chloe to follow.  Usually she is out front waiting for me, prancing impatiently, but Chloe is not your average dog.  She is a bit of an oxymoron—a scaredy-cat of a dog.  She is positive that everything on two feet is out to get her.  She is not afraid of us, nor of Lucas, but no one else can get near her.  Not even, as it turns out, a twenty-month old toddler.
            But that didn’t keep the toddler from trying.  As soon as he saw Chloe, Judah left the path along the fence and headed through the field toward her.  As soon as Chloe saw Judah, she took off running.  He sped up and I held my breath as he plowed through vines, briars, blackberries and stinging nettles.  I took off after him, sure that his soft baby skin would be scratched, torn, and bloody.  He single-mindedly waded on through, leaving a trail of bent and broken greenery behind, until finally I caught up and scooped him into my arms.  With his mind still on his goal, he pointed toward Chloe and said, “Dog.  Wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh-wuhf!”
            I checked him over and he was fine, not a mark on him, no blood, no rashes, no stickers poking out of tender little fingers or toes.  So I put him down, this time on the garden path, and called Chloe to resume our walk--and it started all over again.  Judah chased, Chloe ran, and I followed.  This was not going to work.   Finally I got the garden wagon, put Judah in it, and Chloe followed behind at what she deemed a safe distance--about thirty feet.  But every time Judah’s head swiveled to her and his little finger pointed, she veered from the path and dropped back another foot or two, until reassured that the dangerous little predator wouldn’t come swooping in and nab her unexpectedly.
            We had gone out that morning to walk Chloe.  Judah certainly didn’t have the goal in mind when we went for that walk.  That’s why he couldn’t stay on the path.  I realized not long afterward, though, that he did have a goal in mind.  It was just not the same goal as mine.  I wanted to walk the dog.  He wanted to experience the dog. 
            I think too many times we live our lives aimlessly.  We just let it happen, and then wonder why things went south.  We have no plan for improvement, no strategy for overcoming—we don’t even notice the temptation coming!  I found dozens of verses using the words aim, goal, and purpose.  I found others listing the things we should be looking for or to or toward.  Do you really think God has no purpose for you?
            I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. Psa 57:2. 
            ​The LORD has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble. Prov 16:4.
            If God has a purpose for the evil people in the world, then certainly He has one for His children.  So if He has a purpose for us, shouldn’t we be acting with purpose?  We are familiar with the concept of “purposing” our contributions, but why do you assemble where you do?  To be entertained?  Because this group is loving and makes me feel good?  Because I like the singing?  I know a lot of people who assemble with those goals in mind.  How about these instead:  I assemble here to serve others, even if they don’t serve me; I am here to learn and be admonished, even if they do step on my toes; I am here to participate in those acts we are to do as an “assembly” even if I don’t particularly care for the method used in getting that done.  Do you see?  When I have this sort of purpose, it stops being all about ME.
            Why do you work for a living?  Do you know the reason Paul gives?  “So you may have something to share with anyone in need.”  Eph 4:28.  Is that why you work?  I bet it’s not why your neighbor works.  And here we get to the point.  Judah and I did not share goals that morning, so we did not share paths either.  Are you sharing your neighbor’s path, or are you on a better one?  You ought to be.
            The world may look at how you live and shake its head.  There you go trudging through tall grass, sharp thorns, and clinging vines when the path they are taking is so much easier.  Paul had given up the goal of status among the Jewish leaders, along with potential wealth and fame.  “But whatever gain I had I counted as loss for the sake of Christ,” he said.  His goal in life had changed and so his path had as well.  I am sure his former colleagues and teachers looked with disbelief on the things he left behind and the causes he took up.  “But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Phil 3:7,13,14, just like that little toddler pressed on that morning.
            What is your goal?  You should have one every day, not just on Sundays, although that would be a good start for a lot of people.  Maybe the first thing you should do is look around and see who is on the same path you are.  That might give you pause to consider.
 
He exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, Acts 11:23.

Dene Ward

One of the benefits of becoming a birdwatcher is learning their songs.  It’s been a few years now, and every year I learn another call or sometimes unlearn one I thought I knew.  For the longest time I thought I was hearing a cardinal, when it was really a wren, but now I know them instantly. 
            I have also learned that the same bird produces more than one call.  A cardinal will peep, one high light note at a time, or he will purty, purty, purty, or what, what, what, what, or even cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer.  It all depends upon whether he is courting a female, defending his territory from other males, warning other birds of interlopers, or just contentedly enjoying his meal.  But whichever call he uses, now I know it.
            Some bird songs are deceptive.  A mourning dove sounds like some kind of soft-spoken owl.  A blue jay’s whistle might sound a bit like a cuckoo to someone who is used to listening to cuckoo clocks.  And did you know that the movies often use a hawk’s call when an eagle is pictured because it sounds much more regal for our national bird than the squawk an eagle usually produces?  And so you have to be educated to these sounds to know them, to distinguish one from the other. 
            The same is true of the Bible.  The things I see people falling for astonish me.  How could they possibly believe such craziness?  How?  Because they have never educated themselves in the scriptures.  If you know the general teaching of the Bible, the general layout of the plot (yes, there is one), more than that, if you know the God and the Christ presented in those Scriptures, you won’t fall for the false teachings out there.  You may not know exactly what is wrong, but your mind will instantly say, “Wait a minute.  Something doesn’t sound right.”
            You can only do that by paying attention to everything Jesus says, not just the parts you like.  Too many of us don’t want a Savior who demands that we follow him only, that we give up ourselves, our likes and dislikes, our loyalties and loves, and who makes statements like, “Sin no more,” and “You are of your father the devil.”  We want the loving Jesus who forgives sins and holds the little children in his lap.  To truly accept Jesus is to accept all of his words and ways, not just the parts we prefer.  “The sheep follow the shepherd,” Jesus says, “because they know his voice” John 10:4.  Even the stern, disciplinary voice.
            Jesus is our Good Shepherd.  We must learn all of his words in order to truly know him and not be deceived.  All who came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen, John 10:8.  I’m afraid too many of us would listen, and become lost sheep in the process.
            Do you know his voice?  If you don’t know the whole of Jesus and God’s word, you don’t.  If I can learn a couple dozen bird calls in such a short amount of time, surely you can learn the call of a Savior who wants you to know him in even less. 
 
So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:31-32

Dene Ward

I saw him first in the early spring, the days still cool and breezy, the sun only barely warming the greening grass.  I am not sure exactly how he reached the feeder next to my window, but later I saw him hopping down one limb at a time to the ground.  His right wing was broken, dragging on whatever surface he stood; he was unable to lift it at all.  Yet by hopping upward one limb at a time, I surmised, he had managed to get to a plentiful food supply and ate as much as he needed.
            All spring he came, usually after the other birds had eaten their fill and left.  I made sure he had plenty and he seemed to appreciate it, eying me from the safety beyond the window where I sat as he pecked the seed.  Finally his wing began to mend.  After a couple of weeks he was able to pull it up a bit.  Gradually he pulled it closer and closer to his body, and suddenly one afternoon he gave it a try and flew to the feeders out in the yard, the ones on straight poles that he couldn’t reach before.  His flight was wobbly, swooping down toward the grass in a dive I thought would crash-land, but then he managed to flap a bit and rise to land on the red plastic perch.
            His wing and his maneuvers have both improved.  I can still tell which one he is, though, because that wing healed crookedly and still bows out from his body as if he has his hand in his pocket, elbow stuck out, but his flying is straight and sure now.  He survived what might have brought death to any other bird, perhaps because of the free and easy meal he could still manage to reach while he healed.
            Isn’t that why God put us here together?  When one of us has a broken wing, the rest of us do what we can to help.  It may be physical—taking meals to the ill or injured or those recovering from surgeries.  But far more often it is a spiritual break, a soul in jeopardy from the pitfalls of life that have left him maimed and unable to care for himself.
            And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14
            We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Romans 15:1
            Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2.
            In this way we follow the example of our Lord:  a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench…Matt 12:20.  Just as he healed so many broken souls, he expects us to do the same.
            Sometimes it is difficult to deal with these broken souls.  It takes time, it takes effort, sometimes it even takes heartache and tears. It means we might miss a planned outing, a meal, or maybe some sleep.  Taking care of those in pain can take up your life—but then, isn’t service supposed to be our life when we give it all to the Suffering Servant?  Service by definition is never convenient. 
            Look around for those broken wings.  God expects you to be His agent in taking care of His ailing children.  Feed them, care for them, listen, advise, and if necessary, correct.  Above all, be patient—healing takes time.  If you aren’t willing to do that, then maybe the broken wing is yours.
 
Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, "Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Isaiah 35:3-4

Dene Ward

In the winter sparrows invade my yard, swarming the feeders like ants.  It is nothing unusual for 15 or so to cover the trough by the window, while a dozen more sit in the azaleas waiting for an opening.  Meanwhile, thirty to forty hop along the ground, flitting back and forth to the smaller hanging feeders, which sway from the impetus of their continual take-offs.  After several frosts the brown and black grass successfully camouflages their drab brown and gray feathers.  I can only tell they are there because frosted off grass doesn’t ordinarily move, but that grass literally writhes.
            Brown and gray—drab colors compared to the brilliant red cardinals, the bright yellow goldfinches, the contrasting red and yellow bars on the blackbird’s wing, and the patchwork quilt feathers of the painted bunting.  Even the brown of the Carolina wren is comparatively bright, and the stark contrasts of the zebra-striped black and white warbler perched pecking at the suet cage draws your eye far sooner than the mousy little sparrow.
            But someday you should sit at my window when one of them lands on the trough not six inches from your nose.  Up close the intricate patterns on their wings suddenly turn those drab colors into a source of wonder and delight.  Like delicate lace, the brown and gray sections, outlined by white and spotted with black, will keep your attention for a half hour or more as you struggle to discern the pattern God has placed in their tiny feathers.  No artist could have created anything so exquisite, especially using those colors.
            And what about you?  God can take your drab colors and create a creature far beyond your imagination.  He can take a miserable life and give it purpose, a sorrowful spirit and make it joyous, a selfish heart and tenderize it with compassion.  He can take a soul overwhelmed by the darkness of sin and make it bright with the reflection of its Savior.
            There is nothing drab about the life of a Christian.  God can make even the most ordinary person extraordinary.  We have no need for garish colors, for manmade ornament, or the laurels of worldly praise.  We know who we are—new creatures, “created in Christ Jesus for good works,” each of us beautiful in His glory.  If all you see are drab colors, you just haven’t gotten close enough.
 
…Put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and…be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and…put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness, Eph 4:22-24.

Dene Ward

Our bird watching has spilled over into our camping trips.  Somewhere along the way it dawned on us that we could see different birds in different areas of the country.  So we began carrying small bags of birdseed and scattering it around the campsites.  I saw my first savannah sparrow at Blackwater River, my first nuthatch at Cloudland Canyon, and on our latest trip, my first dark-eyed junco at Black Rock Mountain.
            That’s not all we saw.  We had laid the seed along the landscaping timbers that both defined the site and kept our little aerie from washing down the mountainside.  As long as we sat fairly still and talked quietly, the little gray birds with the white vests hopped closer and closer down the long chunk of weathered wood, pecking at the free and easy meal.  Suddenly a loud crunch behind us caused the birds to fly.  We turned and there sat a fat gray squirrel enjoying the free meal himself, and much more of it.
            “Shoo!” we yelled simultaneously.  He reached down and pawed another kernel.
            Keith hopped up and spun around his chair, clapping his hands with every “Git!” and every step.  Finally the squirrel hopped away, not nearly as scared as I wished.
            Since he was up anyway, Keith started the cook fire and I walked around the tent toward the back of the truck where we stowed our food supplies.  There on the other side of the tent sat the squirrel, once again noshing on the birdseed.
            “Scat!” I shouted, running right at him.  Again he turned and leisurely hopped away.
            After that we were up and around a bit and he kept his distance.  But soon Keith had stepped back into the woods to pick up some deadfall for a later fire in the evening while he waited for the flame to die down to coals, and I was in the screen tent setting the table and prepping the chops for grilling.  I looked up just in time to see that little marauder headed straight for the open screen door, gently waving in the breeze.  He had bypassed the birdseed and was aiming to score people food.
            Only my clumsiness and advancing years kept me from vaulting the table.  Instead, I ran around it, knocking both knees on the corner of the bench and nearly laming myself in the process, stomping, yelling, clapping, and every other noise I could manage.  For once he showed a little alarm and scooted through the brush surrounding us.
            Keith returned and we both bustled around the tents, the truck, and the fire, cooking and laying out the meal.  Half an hour later we sat down to inch thick, herb-rubbed, wood-grilled pork chops, Spanish rice, and skillet corn and red peppers.  Meanwhile, the squirrel sat down to more birdseed.  He crept up behind Keith, he crept up behind me.  He hopped along the timber behind the fire, then tried the one behind the tent.  Every time Keith jumped up and scared him off.
            After the sixth or seventh time that I touched Keith’s hand and pointed, he hung his head in defeat.  “Let him eat,” he said, ferociously stabbing a fork into his chop and sawing with far more exertion than necessary, “so I can.”
            That’s exactly the way Satan comes after us.  Do you need a Biblical example to believe this?  How about Potiphar’s wife (Genesis 39)?  She appealed to Joseph’s natural appetites first, by far the strongest appeal to a young man.  She made it look rewarding—she was the Master’s wife after all, imagine the extra privileges he might have received.  She spoke to Joseph “day by day,” a constant and growing pressure on him.  Even though he seems to have made it his business to avoid her, finally she managed to catch him alone—now it was even easier to give in.  And boy, did she make him pay when he didn’t.
            Satan is persistent.  He comes from every angle and tries every trick.   Sometimes he comes as often as every few minutes.  He will never give up.  Even just fighting him will cost you—time, comfort, convenience, security, wealth, friends, freedom, maybe even your life.  But if you give up, the cost is even worse.  If you say, “Let him eat,” he will—he will “devour” your eternal soul, every last bite.
 
Be sober, be watchful: your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, prowls about, seeking whom he may devour…Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Wherefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and, having done all, to stand…To that end keep alert with all perseverance…1 Peter 5:8; Ephesians 6:11-13, 18.
 
Dene Ward

            I apologize for that, but I just don’t know what else to call this.  Chloe has a cold.  I never knew a dog could get a cold.  It has been typical of a human cold.  She felt miserable for two or three days, and then she started coming out of it, once again running to greet us when we step outdoors, and racing the couple hundred yards to the gate to meet us when we come home.  And, just like a human cold, the runny nose lingers on.  She never coughed or that would have lingered too, just as Keith’s has for over three months now.
            But this nose thing is almost intolerable.  Let me put it like this:  when a dog blows its nose, you had better stand way back. 
            She comes out every morning trying to clean out her pipes, clearing her throat and spitting, blowing her nose and sneezing--just like her master, except he knows to use a handkerchief.  Chloe on the other hand looks just plain disgusting. 
            I am sure you remember how it was when your toddler had a cold and you couldn’t follow him around all day wiping his nose.  You really did have diapers to wash, and meals to fix, and floors to mop, and on and on, a never ending list.   Suddenly he would come running to share with you a tot-sized marvel, and you would look up and, even if you didn’t say it, you would think, “Gross!” and grab a Kleenex to wipe up what was, um, hanging.  Well, with a dog, multiply that several times--and add a few inches. 
            And just like a child, Chloe most certainly does not appreciate it when you wipe her nose.  She has learned to recognize the restroom variety brown paper towels that hang on the carport, and runs when she sees one in Keith’s hand.  As much as I hate to do it to her, when she flees to me for help, I grab her collar and hold her still so he can indeed, clean up that repulsive little schnozzle.  I found out the hard way what happens if you don’t.  Not only will she sneeze on you, but she will then wipe that nose all by herself--on your hem, or your shirtsleeve, or your jeans, or whatever else she can reach, mixed in with whatever dust or dirt she has lain in.  It is repulsive and the only way it comes off is in the washing machine.
            Are you thoroughly grossed out now?  What do you think when you see a friend with a bad case of sin?  Do you act like it isn’t there?  Are you afraid of losing him to correction?  Do you sympathize with him if anyone does care enough to try to help, joining in your friend’s criticism of their methods, their words, even their motivation—as if you could read minds?  Do you just go along like nothing has happened, like it won’t make any difference to them or you or anyone else?
            Sin is disgusting, especially in someone who claims to live a life of purity.  It will keep him from eternal life just as surely as a nose full of snot will keep a child from breathing well.  It will drip all over him in one disgusting glob and affect the lives of others who see him.  And if you stay too close, it will get on you too.  How can it not?
            Think about that special friend right now.  Everyone has one—someone you love who has lost his way.  Are you going to allow your friend to continue in this revolting situation, or do you love him enough to grab a spiritual paper towel and wipe his nose?
 
But you, beloved, building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt; save others by snatching them out of the fire; to others show mercy with fear, hating even the garment stained by the flesh, Jude 1:20-23.
 
Dene Ward

I have a feeling that some of Bella and Chloe’s playtime might have been a little unsettling to Bella’s youngest master.  Young wild animals learn survival skills through play—how to hunt and how to fight.  Even domesticated animals learn some of these things.  Puppies always engage in rough and tumble play, including baby nips and growls.  Chloe and Bella did the same, and being larger and older, it looked much fiercer.
            Teeth bared, growls ferocious, their muzzles tilted back and forth as if trying to find the best place to lock onto one another.  Larger Bella ran at Chloe and broadsided her, sending her rolling, then pounced on top.  In seconds, more experienced Chloe had her legs wrapped around Bella and flipped her over, like a wrestler reversing a pin.  Sometimes they ran headlong into one another like charging bulls and as they met, the saliva flew in all directions.  I learned to stand way back.
            How did I know this wasn’t real, that it was simply an older dog teaching a younger through play?  Because they never drew blood.  If you watched their mouths, neither ever closed tightly on the other dog’s body anywhere.  And when they finished, they stood panting for a few moments, energy spent, both tongues dangling toward the ground, looking at one another.  Often they would touch noses, then walk shoulder to shoulder back to the shade, Chloe under the truck and Bella under a tree—lesson for the day over.
            I remember a time when brethren could discuss things, even differing views on a passage, and each come away having learned something.  They could trust one another, not only to have each other’s best interest at heart, but also to listen and consider fairly, and never to become angry.  Even if voices rose, no blood was drawn, spiritually speaking, respect continued, and both left with more knowledge and insight.
            What has happened to us?  If someone disagrees with me, it makes me mad or it hurts my feelings, and either way I don’t like him any more.  It is no longer about learning and growing—it about winning arguments and putting people down.  Instead of being able to trust a person because he is a brother, one must try to find a brother he can trust, and it isn’t easy.  That’s not just a shame, it’s a tragedy.  If a man say, I love God, and hates his brother, he is a liar: for he that loves not his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment have we from him, that he who loves God love his brother also. 1 John 4:20-21
            God meant us to learn and grow together, honing our skills and building one another up.  It might make us occasional sparring partners, but in that sparring we learn how to handle the word more accurately, we learn how to defeat the gainsayers who deny the Lord, and the false teachers who might be after our souls.  And after that sparring match, we “touch gloves” and leave with our love and respect intact.
            At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
 
Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17
 
Dene Ward