Magdi has been gone 10 months.  She was definitely the dominant dog.  She made sure Chloe knew it with a couple of painful lessons.  Once that was established they got along fine.  Sometimes Magdi snapped impatiently, but most of the time they played well together.  Though Magdi would have been loathe to admit it, Chloe kept her active longer as the arthritis set into her hips in her last two years.  She couldn’t have that little whippersnapper outdoing her.

            But we have seen the effects of Magdi’s domination since she died.  When people come to visit, Chloe hides.  Even from children, Chloe hides.  If we happen to be swatting at a fly, she runs for cover.  She will sit next to us for only a brief amount of time, then she is off to herself somewhere across the yard because that was always Magdi’s spot.  In spite of our diligent efforts to treat them the same, Magdi definitely taught Chloe her place.

            We thought about another companion for Chloe, but decided it was not a good idea.  She would immediately become submissive again because that is all she knows.  She needed time to become “her own dog,” and to know that this was her territory to defend.

            Things are coming along, but slowly.  She has started digging up moles in the yard.  She did this before, but Magdi always took them away from her.  When she dug up the first one after Magdi died, she left it for her.  Now she knows it’s hers to do with as she pleases.  This year the moles have made our yard look like a topographical map, so we are happy to let her do it, even if it means we need to fill in the holes, and we encourage her every time we come across a tunnel. 

            The neighbor walked his dogs the other day-- two huge Great Danes loping along the fence line like a couple of horses.  Chloe wouldn’t go to the fence to challenge them as she used to do with Magdi, but instead of hiding under the porch as she has since Magdi died, she sat out on a raised mound and actually barked at them.  Last week some repairmen came.  She went out to the road and barked at the truck!  The next day when guests came, she hid under the porch again.  Oh well, progress is often measured in inches instead of miles.

            This morning she walked up to the gate with me.  There on the other side was another dog sniffing the ground as dogs do, checking to see who had been around lately and whether this was a place he could claim as his own.  I stopped to see what would happen.  Instantly Chloe’s ears popped up.  She straightened her stance and her tail stood at attention.  A low growl began to erupt from deep within her chest, and before I realized what was happening, she spun out, charging the gate with a ferocious bark.  That other dog took one look and hightailed it back up the road to his own place, the place Chloe had just put him in with her vigorous defense of her people and her property.

            No, it doesn’t mean that things are suddenly right.  She still has a long way to go, but she is doing better.  We showed her that it was her job, and she has stepped up to the plate, at least once in awhile.  There may be things she can never do as well as Magdi did, but there are things she can do even better—like hear the moles in the ground and dig them up. 

            Haven’t you known a young man who had to follow in the footsteps of a dominant father, one who accomplished much and had many admirers, a young man who thought he could never do the same, and so quit trying?  It’s our fault when that happens.  We expected him to be his father instead of being who he was.  It may very well be that the man he is can do other things equally well, or better, but our expectations have kept him from even discovering those things. 

            And so in the family of God, as each generation comes along, it is our duty to teach them “the ropes.” Excuse my mixed metaphors, but it is also our duty to step out of the way and pass the torch.  No, we don’t put old men out to pasture.  If they can still teach or sing or preach or pray, then they need to do that.  They have an obligation to God to do that as long as they are able.  But we must also allow the next generation time to grow, time to make a few mistakes and learn from them, time to become their own men in the Lord.

            “Passing the torch” takes humility.  You know you are better so you keep it and run another mile.  Meanwhile, that young man, the one with fresher legs, gets no experience, no on-the-job training, and no encouragement.  Then, when the old men are gone, he can do nothing.  Or perhaps worse, he believes that the things he can do don’t count for anything.  Where is the wisdom in that?

            Being a young, or inexperienced man takes humility too.  Those men before you know what they are talking about when they give you advice.  Listen to them.  You will not match their prowess at the beginning, but with their help and God’s help and your own hard work, you can be every bit the men of God they are.  And by the way, the same goes for the women in the church too.
 
I am writing to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one…I write to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, and you have overcome the evil one, 1 John 2:13-14.
 
Dene Ward

Chloe sounded like a puppy was supposed to sound when we first got her, a small high-pitched yap of a bark, rather than the more full-throated deep bark Magdi had.  I assumed her bark would grow up as she did.  I was wrong.  Despite four years of growth into forty pounds of deep-chested dog, she still sounds like someone stepped on her squeak toy.  It’s difficult to take her bark seriously and actually go check it out.  Anything that raises that sort of noise can’t be dangerous, can it?

            Paul says in 1 Cor 14:8, For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle? His context is another topic altogether, but he makes the point for me.  God expected his people to sound a trumpet when an enemy approached, Num 10:9.  When you go into battle…against an enemy who is oppressing you, sound a blast on the trumpets, and you shall be remembered before the Lord your God and you shall be saved from your enemy.”  Notice!  He said sound a blast, not a wimpy little “blurp.”  He has always expected his watchmen to sound the alarm so that his people could be protected.

           In our politically correct world, I worry that we have fallen into the habit of giving “an uncertain sound.”  We no longer speak in plain English.  We are too worried about what others might think, so worried in fact, that many people never know they have been rebuked, and fewer hear any sort of warning at all.  Even in the original context of I Corinthians 14, speaking in tongues, Paul worried about people understanding what they were being told.  So with yourselves, if with your tongue you utter speech that is not intelligible, how will anyone know what is said? For you will be speaking into the air. The same is true when we pussyfoot around with our preaching.  If people don’t get the point, what good did we do?  And no, I am not going to take the time to qualify this with warnings about having the right attitude when we correct others.  For a disciple of Christ that should go without saying.  Attitude is not my point today, and these days, not the one we most need to hear.

            If we fail to adequately warn those who are sinning, if we fail to warn our brethren against false teaching and its consequences, where will we stand before our God?  We might as well be yapping like a dustmop dog, irritating the neighbors and raising up a fuss for nothing.
 
But if the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not warned, and the sword come, and take any person from among them; he is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman's hand. So you, son of man, I have set you a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me. When I say unto the wicked, O wicked man, you shall surely die, and you do not speak to warn the wicked from his way; that wicked man shall die in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at your hand. Nevertheless, if you warn the wicked of his way to turn from it, and he turns not from his way; he shall die in his iniquity, but you have delivered your soul.  Ezek 33:6-9.
 
Dene Ward

The other morning I noticed Chloe’s left ear sagging to the side.  No matter what was going on or how excited she was, that ear would not stand up as it normally did, over half as tall as her head in the manner of all Australian cattle dogs’ ears.  She reminded me of the antenna that sat on top of our television when I was a child, one leg of it straight up in the air, and the other at nearly ninety degrees.

            Then she started scratching at it and shaking her head and I knew—ear mites.  So we searched through the cabinet until we found the white squeeze bottle of ear mite treatment.  We had never used it on her so she came willingly, even when she saw us with the bottle.  In fact, we had not used it in so long that it took a while to get any out of the bottle, and then when it came, it came with a rush, completely filling her ear canal.  We held her long and massaged it in, but it was still too much.  As soon as we let go she shook her head and slung a big glop of it right into my eye.

            Canine ear mite medicine is not made for human eyeballs.  I rushed inside half blinded and flushed my eye for several minutes, then used up several vials of saline completely clearing the stuff out of my burning eye.  I think the contact lens helped shield it, or it might have been much worse.

            Some things don’t need medicating, especially with the wrong medicine, and some things we think need our ministrations just need to be left alone.

            John said unto him, Teacher, we saw one casting out demons in your name; and we forbade him, because he followed not us. But Jesus said, Forbid him not: for there is no man who shall do a mighty work in my name, and be able quickly to speak evil of me. For he that is not against us is for us, Mark 9:38-40.

            Many times we disagree with a brother about a subject that makes no difference at all in our ability to worship together.  Many times we disagree with each other about things that seem fairly important, but we can still sit on the same pew and worship our God in complete harmony.  The disharmony is caused only when we make something out of it.  As long as your beliefs do not hinder me from mine, where is the problem?  As long as I do not force mine on you as a condition of fellowship when it shouldn’t be, why can’t we get along?  You say you see something you believe might lead to a problem?  As long as it isn’t one, don’t force the issue.  Don’t deliberately do something that will bring discord into the family of God and call it “fighting for the truth,” when it is only wrangling about words or, at its heart, bickering about power.

            Sometimes we need to remember the Lord’s reply to his overzealous disciples:  “He that is not against us is for us.”  And we especially need to remember his absolute loathing of anything and anyone who disrupts the unity of his body.  Paul tells us in Ephesians 2 that Christ came to create unity, and that we are “one new man,” “one body,” “fellow citizens,” and “a family.” Why did he do that?  So that we might “grow into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom ye also are built together for a habitation of God.”  The God of peace cannot dwell in a temple that is not at peace.  We destroy the mission of Christ when we make it so.

            Be careful about diagnosing others’ beliefs.  Be careful about making things matters of spiritual life and death, when they are simply non-life-threatening “bugs.”  Maybe by our sitting together every Sunday, studying together with respect for one another instead of accusations, we can come even closer to agreement on those very bugs, and they will run their course and disappear.
 
One man esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike.  Let each man be fully assured in his own mind…Why do you pass judgment on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God; for it is written, "As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God." So then each of us will give an account of himself to God, Rom 14:5, 10-12.
 
Dene Ward

We never kennel the dogs when we leave for a week.  Australian cattle dogs need to run at full tilt for a distance.  A daily walk behind the vet’s office simply will not do.  So we leave them with the full five acres to run in, a bed of warm, clean hay in the doghouse, and a neighbor to keep them fed and watered.

            When we come home you would think we had been away for a year.  They race up to the gate the instant they hear us coming—they must recognize the engine.  Before we can get it unlocked they are prancing and leaping, squealing high-pitched yelps, even whining a little because we aren’t fast enough to get through that gate and back to them.  They push each other out of the way, each one trying to get to us first, tails wagging hard, tongues at the ready for wet kisses and reassuring sniffs.  Then they race the car back to the house, ready to do it all again. 

            I don’t think anyone has ever greeted us the way our dogs do.  Even when I am gone just a few hours I get a better greeting from them than from Keith, and truth to be told, he probably gets a better one than I give too.  They must think we have been gone far longer than we actually have.  We have started calling it “dog time.”  When I am leaving for just a couple of hours I tell them we will be back in a few days, at least it will seem like that to them.  If it’s going to be most of the day, I tell them we’ll be back in a week.  And when we’re gone a week I always say, “We’ll be home in two or three months.”  I know they don’t understand any of this, but it reminds me of what our absences mean to our pets, so I give them a little extra attention the day before we leave and the day we get back.

            Actually, people have the same problem of perspective.  Knowing this first, that in the last days mockers shall come with mockery, walking after their own lusts, and saying, Where is the promise of his coming? for, from the day that the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation...But forget not this one thing, beloved, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day, 2 Pet 3:3,4,8.

            People who take that verse literally are missing the point.  It isn’t that each day is exactly 1000 years with God.  God dwells outside of time.  He doesn’t count years any more than He counts days.  Therefore we should not try to bind an Eternal God with our notions of passing time.  When we do, we give up on Him, His promises, and the hope they are meant to give us.

            We also start making far too much of this life.  When life becomes the destination instead of the journey, you place more importance on it than on preparing yourself for the eternal life in an eternal home.  If eternity were pictured as all the water in all the oceans and rivers and lakes on this Earth, our lives are not even one drop of it, and 1000 years perhaps a scant teaspoon.  But even that is a feeble attempt to explain eternity because it cannot be contained.  It cannot be measured and never runs out.

            Just remember this:  For all practical purposes, eternity will come very soon for each of us, for once you die time ends for you.  It could happen far sooner than you think.  Illness strikes.  Accidents happen, and then all the time in the world you thought you had will be gone.  Make the most of it now.
 
O LORD, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath! Selah, Psa 39:4,5.
 
Dene Ward

Magdi is gone.  Regardless of it being ten years, six months and a day, we thought it was way too early for it to happen, but even she knew.  She had been slow and creaky for several months.  Finally she stopped eating, and quietly sat, waiting for the inevitable.  Since she did not seem to be in pain, we wanted her to die here, the home she had known for all but one month of her life, but it wasn’t to be.  She was just too fit, athlete that she had been, and every morning when we checked on her, expecting that she had gone in the night, she lifted her head for yet another pat and sighed.  No, not yet, Boss. 

            When she reached the point that she could no longer even stand, we decided to make that final trip to the vet.  This one was hard, harder than any of the dogs or cats before.  You might be surprised to know that several have said how they will miss hearing about her—“the Magdi stories,” they always call them, people who have never even seen her.

            She taught us a lot over the years.  First, and foremost, she taught us to fulfill our purposes.  She was born and bred to herd and she tried to do it from puppyhood, crossing our paths as we walked to turn us this way and that.  She herded basketballs, soccer balls, body balls, and even a bowling ball.  She often tried to herd squirrels, which never quite worked as she thought it should. 

            She taught us to work diligently, even when she was tired, even when it was too hot to do much more than sit in the shade.  She taught us loyalty and bravery—she was always between me and whatever scary tractor or mower roared on our property and came running when a snake appeared, even the deadly ones.  From the moment my illness reached this peak, she has somehow known and protected me throughout.

            She taught us that there is always a younger generation watching, one that needs to learn how to do the tough stuff—like eating raw green beans.

            She taught us to find the thing we are best at and do it with all our might, even if it’s just catching tennis balls.  She taught us to enjoy the simple things in life.  She was often an exasperation due to her smarts, but far more often she brought us joy.

            God has been using his animal creation to teach us for thousands of years.  He tells us that even the eagles know to care for their young, Deut 32:11.  He tells us that even the smallest of animals knows to behave wisely, Prov 30:24-28.  He points us to one of his tiniest creatures to teach us about diligence and hard work, Prov 6:6-8, Go to the ant, you sluggard. Consider her ways and be wise.  He tells us that even the birds of the heavens recognize the seasons, so there is no excuse for his people not knowing his law, Jer 8:7.

            So I think it is not wrong for us to remember a special dog who taught us many things over the past few years.  If we could learn our purpose—serving God and one another—if we could be half as brave, hard working, smart, faithful, and content as she was, we might turn out okay after all.
 
Ask now the beasts, and they shall teach you; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell you: Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach you; and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto you. Who knows not in all these, that the hand of LORD has wrought this? In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind, Job 12:7-10.
 
Dene Ward

Last spring we watched a hawk couple build a nest right over our garden.  Every day we were out planting and watering, they were carrying twigs trailing Spanish moss up to the lowest fork, thirty feet up the pine tree just east of the plowed plot of dirt we work all summer.  By the time our plants were poking up through the dirt, the mother was sitting on the nest.  She sat so low and blended in so well, it took a pair of binoculars and a steady hand to see her at all.  The father faithfully brought her food every evening, and would often sit on the branch next to the nest as she sat on her eggs.  

About four weeks later, I saw the mother hop off the nest one morning and a day or so after heard tiny cheeps as I stood under the tree.  In a few days, a white downy head appeared, and soon another one.  The next three weeks we watched as the parents brought them food, kept them warm, and at times sat on the rowdy babies so they would not fall out of the tree!  Soon both babies were sitting up in the nest, at times peering over at me while I picked, hoed, watered, and all the other chores involved in gardening.  They were getting so big it took both parents to bring enough food, and their white down was turning brown.

And then one morning, one of them was gone.  At first it did not go far.  It sat in the trees across the fence from the nest-tree.  It was bigger, but had more muted coloring, so we assumed it was a female, and big sister would call out to her little brother all through the day, telling him he could fly too, or so I anthropomorphically presumed.  Then big sister and parents were gone most of the day, mom and dad teaching the first one how to hunt, and only coming back in the evenings to feed the smaller one in the nest, who always greeted them with the most pitiful little squeaks of happiness.  

He seemed so lonely I started talking to him every morning when I was out, and he usually sat up, cocked his head back and forth, and peered over the edge of the nest at me, until I went inside.  I assumed he would be flying in a day or so, but no, after a week, he was still there.  He often flapped his wings, big, strong wings I knew could carry him easily, but he seemed afraid.  In fact, one morning he hopped out of the nest onto the limb and lost his balance.  It was funny to see him wave his wings like a human waving his arms in circles, trying to catch his balance—and he did, and hopped back in that nest as quickly as he could.

Then about ten days after his big sister flew, I went out to the garden and the nest was empty.  I felt like his mother, not knowing whether to cheer or cry.  I was sure he was gone forever.  Then suddenly I heard him, and there he sat in the same tree, but fifteen feet higher!  He stayed there the whole time I was out in the garden, but in the evening he was gone.  

The next morning, I walked my path and heard him again.  High in the air he circled over me then settled on a limb only 7 or 8 feet off the ground, and directly across the fence from where I stood, calling to me.  As soon as I reached that point in my walk and started talking, he hushed and sat there cocking his head again, until I told him it had been nice talking with him, but I really needed to finish my walk and today’s garden work.  He called awhile longer while I walked, sometimes changing trees to be nearby, but eventually flew off.  

Every day that summer he would come back in the mornings and find a tree near me so we could talk awhile.  He eventually figured out where I disappeared and once landed on the roof of the porch where we could see him and he could see us through the window while we ate.  Then things happened.  I had some surgeries, some complications, and for a few weeks was unable to walk.  He disappeared and winter came.  Now I knew he was gone for good.

Late in January I heard him outside one morning.  Yes, when you have heard one hawk often enough, you can actually tell him apart from the others.  I ran outside and called out to him.  He stopped and listened, then flew away.  It had been long enough, I suppose, that his natural fear of man had taken over, but it was still a nice moment in the day.  But ever since that day, if I am late getting outside to walk, I hear him calling from high in the sky, and he flies overhead for most of the time I am walking.  He will not let me get close, but he will land in trees close to the house to call at least, until I come outside.

I think God allows natural things to happen when we need them—things that encourage us, that help us overcome a temptation or get past a bad moment in the day; brethren we see in our day in unusual places, paths that cross when they can most help one another.  I am a long way out and not likely to have those sorts of things, but maybe God has sent me this hawk.  I know he reminds me of one of my favorite passages in the Bible—even though he is a hawk and not an eagle.  But we will never get the benefit of those providential things if we are not paying attention.  

So be aware today of the things that happen, the people you see, and the thoughts that cross your mind—maybe even that hymn that goes round and round in your head like a broken record.  Maybe it was Heaven sent.

They that wait on Jehovah shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint.  Isa 40:31  

Dene Ward

I live in rural north central Florida.  Snakes are a fact of life.  Poisonous snakes are a big fact of life.  You learn to take precautions, but even then, if you have not seen one in a while, you become careless.  Last summer we were reminded of where we live.

One morning I was walking the mown path around our property, as I do every day, six laps for 3 ½ miles.  Suddenly the weeds to the left of me buzzed.  If you have ever heard a rattlesnake in person, you know it does not sound exactly like the ones on TV.  It sounds like an angry June bug, a really big, really angry June bug.  I leapt sideways about 10 feet—in fact, if sideways leaping were an Olympic event, I would have won the gold medal that day.  

We never found that one, but not ten days later, the dog alerted us to one in the yard, which Keith shot.  Four days later, she found a cottonmouth which escaped her by flattening itself enough to get under the house.  Keith had to crawl under there with a flashlight and a pistol for that one.  A week later another rattler in the yard met him as he returned from the neighbor’s.  Four days later a black racer crossed my running path about thirty feet ahead.  Two days after that a coachwhip met me at the fence behind the old pigpen when I walked.  This was beginning to get eerie.  We had never had this many snakes in this short a time, not even the first summer we set up house in this old watermelon field in the piney woods, half a mile off the highway.  

Five days later I was folding clothes in the family room and happened to look out the window right next to me.  Not five feet from my face, a racer was winding itself up around the TV tower.  No, racers are not poisonous.  Yes, it was outside and I was inside with not one, but two, glass panes between me and it.  But something about that one sent chills up my spine.  It was almost more than I could do to go outside that day at all.  Somehow I expected to see dozens of snakes slithering up the porch steps and clinging to the screen just waiting to strike when I opened the back door.  

But when it was time to walk, I took a deep breath, got the .22 rifle loaded with number 12 shot, leaned it against the tree and set off, with my trusty canine bodyguards bounding up ahead of me to sniff out the critters and, more important, scare away the snakes.  Still, I was a lot more alert than usual.  

This was a good spiritual reminder as well.  We live in a stable society.  No natives on the warpath.  No marauders on the borders.  No wars fought on our home ground.  Have we forgotten to be careful?  There is still an enemy out there who is REAL, and he will kill our souls if we are not alert.  Are we to be so afraid that we shut ourselves away from the world?  No, for how could our lights shine and our faith be told?  But being cautious never hurt anyone.  

When you go out there today, pay attention, stay safe, and when you see the lion, who at least once has masqueraded as a serpent, either shoot him down right there or run!

Be sober, be watchful, your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about seeking whom he may devour; withstand him, steadfast in your faith, knowing that the same sufferings are accomplished in your brothers who are in the world.  And the God of all grace, who called you unto His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, shall Himself perfect, establish and strengthen you.  1 Pet 5:7-10

Dene Ward 

I had a bad spell earlier this spring, a time when I had more pain and could see even less than my new “normal.”  So I sat by the window and watched the birds.

            The sparrows, which usually prefer to fend for themselves in the summer, still flitted and darted by, or sat right down in the trough full of birdseed, being too short to reach from the sides of the feeder.  One little fellow was having a terrible time keeping his balance, though.  More often than not, he fell over in the seed, fluttering and scattering grain up and around, “stoning” his companions with their meal.

            The second time I saw him, he was on the wooden ledge of the feeder, right next to the window on what should have been flat, even footing.  Still, he could barely stand up straight, and often rested on his stomach, heaving great sighs of exertion that puffed up his little breast like a pair of overwrought bellows.  The next time he stood I leaned as closely as I could to the glass and finally saw his problem.  He only had one leg. 

            This little fellow was severely handicapped, despite his wings.  He couldn’t hop just an inch or two without teetering dangerously.  He couldn’t get from one side of the feeder across the trough to the other without flapping his wings and causing consternation among his closest dining companions.  Perhaps the worst problem, he could not fly up to the suet cage and hold on with just one foot.  He kept falling off.  So he tried to hover a couple of times, flapping his wings as hard and fast as he could but was unable to get high enough to reach it. 

            I understood why he didn’t just nestle in the seed and eat to his heart’s content.  The bigger birds often flew low across him, trying to scare him away, and his fellow sparrows would jump at and peck him.  In the animal kingdom compassion is nonexistent.  So this little guy had to fend for himself and do the best he could.  I looked for him every day, wondering how long he would last before a bigger, stronger bird decided it wanted what he had and didn’t care what it took to get it.

            All of us have been one-legged sparrows at times.  We have problems.  We experience trials, pain, and suffering, both physical and emotional.  Just like that little sparrow, we often try to fend for ourselves, refusing to admit when we need help.  I don’t want to let someone close enough to find out what’s going on in my life.  It would make me look bad.  I might have to admit I am not perfect. 

            It’s humiliating to admit my marriage is in trouble.  It’s embarrassing to admit I have a weakness that is about to cost me my soul.  I am ashamed to tell people that I have a problem with my attitude, to communicate my feelings in an intimate manner.  You know what?  Most of the time they know it already, but we cannot get the help we need if we won’t let people in.  Refusing to admit weakness may be the biggest sign of weakness there is--it takes strength to admit we need help.

            I have a theory about all this.  If I cannot ask my brothers and sisters for help, I probably don’t have a real relationship with God either.  The same humility that allows us to go to others also allows us to admit our sin and ask God for grace and forgiveness. 

            A sense of independence may be the worst thing for your spiritual life because Christians must realize they cannot do it alone—whatever “it” is.  God expects them to trust and rely on him.  He has given us a spiritual family designed to help each other.  Christians understand that hopping around like a one-legged sparrow doing his best to survive on his own will ultimately lead to destruction.
           
Behold my servant whom I have chosen, my beloved with whom my soul is well pleased. I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the Gentiles. He will not quarrel or cry aloud, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets; a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench, until he brings justice to victory, Matt 12:18-20.
 
Dene Ward

We have a new wrens’ nest, this time in the old drain pipe at the side of the porch, the one we blocked up to reroute the rain away from the steps.  It’s fun to watch the mother shoot up the cut-off spout lightning quick, evidently hitting her avian brakes just inside so that all we see is her short stubby tail sticking out.  Then it gradually disappears from sight as she eases her way toward her nest. 

            I stood there the other morning after she had disappeared and listened to the cheeps and peeps of her babies as she fed them.  It was surprisingly loud, coming through that pipe, and it reminded me of a recent Sunday when our crowd of little ones suddenly out-preached the preacher.  He had to stop for a minute before he could continue on, but was quick to say, “Praise God for the babies.  Don’t ever be embarrassed at the noise your precious children are making.  Isn’t it wonderful to have so many?”

            Indeed it is.  I know of churches where there are none—zero—zilch—nada.   In fact, in some there are only a couple of people under 40 and only three or four under 60.  Yet some of those same churches sit on their laurels, talking of the past when their number was double, and looking to a time ahead when an upsurge in the economy will produce more jobs in the area and “possibly more Christians will move in.”  Excuse me?  Why don’t they do what the first century Christians they claim to emulate did?  Go out and make some more Christians with the people you already have on hand!

            There is another aspect of this.  I hear of people leaving churches “because there are no young people.”  Now it may very well be that the mindset of that group is antagonistic to the young, or at least not encouraging.  But in most places that is not the problem.  You have to start somewhere and that may very well mean that you and your family are the only young people.  How long it remains that way could be the reason God put you there. 

            Why not go to your young friends and bring them in?  Don’t apologize for the fact that the church is aged.  Most of the time, people do not go to a church for entertainment.  When they can finally be persuaded to go, it is usually out of spiritual need.  I don’t really think they will be as picky as you might think if those “old folks” are kind and loving to them.  And let me say it yet again, old folks have a lot to offer in wisdom and experience.  God could raise up young people out of these stones, to paraphrase the Lord.  The fact that he doesn’t puts the responsibility squarely upon us all.

            Jesus undoubtedly loved the sound of children.  He wanted them around him, and so should we.  I have seen far too many old curmudgeons wince and growl when a child was his idea of “too noisy” in the worship services.  The fact that their parents brought them, even knowing that they would very likely be embarrassed, not just that Sunday but the next and the next and the next, as they taught their precious charges the ins and outs of “church manners” (whatever that means), shows they have the humble hearts Christ sought in all his disciples.  Very likely those children will grow up that way too. 

            Let there be noise in the assembly, especially the noise of babies.  Praise God for the children!
 
And they were bringing unto him little children, that he should touch them: and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was moved with indignation, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me; forbid them not: for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall in no wise enter therein. And he took them in his arms, and blessed them, laying his hands upon them. Mark 10:13-16.
 
Dene Ward

I sat watching the birds a few days ago after returning from a trip, dog-tired and mind in a whirl.  I suddenly noticed the cardinals in the azaleas—six males perched on various branches, for once getting along instead of dive-bombing each other in a territorial squabble over the feeder.  Six bright red birds each with that signature crest standing high and “on alert.”  I have gotten so used to them, so jaded by having them right outside my window to wonder at virtually any time of day, that I had forgotten how beautiful they were.  In fact, I remembered a week or so before when I had wished them out of the way of the pudgy, little, brown wren so I could see him better.  He only comes once every few days, you see.

              Today is 42 years.  Have I gotten used to Keith that way?  He is there every morning and back every evening, after spending a day providing for me.  He calls every day after lunch to make sure I am all right.  On the weekends he is right outside the door, taking care of our things, repairing, improving, growing a garden to feed us well, and then making it look the way he knows I want it to.  When I have a bad day, a rough appointment, or a difficult surgery, he is always there to take care of me.  He has never once had a thought of betrayal or abandonment.  Have I forgotten just how glorious our relationship is?

            It is easy to see someone new and think he is more exciting.  It is easy to find someone’s interest thrilling, especially if she is a little younger.  Remember what drew you to your spouse in the beginning, the charm, the beauty, the stimulating conversations, and the common interests and goals in life.  Don’t think a pudgy brown wren is as beautiful as a bright red cardinal just because it’s the new chick in town.

            Despite the world’s scorn of marriage, God pictures it as a beautiful relationship, one he wanted with his people. 

            You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married; for the LORD delights in you, and your land shall be married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you, Isa 62:4,5. And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD, Hos 2:19,20.

            If that is God’s view of marriage, why do we stand by and let others demean it?  Worse, why do we not live up to its promises ourselves, for a relationship is only what two people make of it.

            A couple of years ago I almost literally bumped into an older gentleman at the grocery store.  He smiled and asked a question about some product on the shelf and then I went on my way, down the aisle, around, and back up the next.  He had done the same going his direction and so we once again passed and he made another comment.  I am a little slow.  It took the third or fourth time for me to realize what was up, and I casually mentioned “my husband.”  That was all it took.  He was polite but never bothered me again.  Here was a man who respected the institution.  He was interested, but not with a married woman.  He would not be, in the old parlance, “a home-wrecker.”

            I see little of that respect today.  A marriage is made to break just like any other contract, whenever it no longer suits us.  Working things out, growing through our trials, supporting one another “for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part,” are empty words recited for tradition’s sake and nothing more.  If I see someone I want, who cares if he is married?  That takes a mere pen stroke to undo.  In fact, why bother going through all that rigmarole in the first place?

            My opinion of marriage should be the same as my Father’s.  He thought so much of it that he used it to pattern his Son’s body, the church, “The Bride of Christ.” That he might present the church to himself, glorious…This mystery [marriage] is great: but I speak in regard of Christ and of the church, Eph 5:27, 32.  Full of glory, that’s how Christ sees his Bride.

            Have we grown jaded to this marvelous relationship, graciously given by a loving Father who knew what was best for us, and like many other things, corrupted its very nature to the point that it means little to nothing except a nuisance we must somehow put up with?  We might as well think the same of the Father who gave it. 

            Don’t get too used to the glory.
 
For your Maker is your husband, the LORD of hosts is his name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called, Isa 54:5.
 
Dene Ward