Retirement is a wonderful thing.  No more rushing around every morning, swallowing a quick breakfast whole, throwing on an outfit, and rushing out the door after a quick peck on your wife’s cheek.  At least that’s the way it was for Keith for several decades. 

            Now it’s a leisurely breakfast in your pajamas with a second cup of coffee, and then a third out on the carport, watching the birds swoop down in front of us to the bird feeder, hummingbirds battling over their feeder like tiny pilots in fighter planes, and Chloe sitting next to us, her tail swishing sparkly grains of sand over the concrete. 

We have a little ritual with her—three or four doggie treats that Keith sails out toward the flower bed one at a time with her tearing after them, sniffing around in the grass until she finds the morsel, then rolling in the dew wet grass in doggy euphoria before returning to her post at our feet, or even under our chairs—the better to garner a belly rub.

            He always throws the treats in the same direction, slightly south of east, and makes the same whistle like a missile falling to the earth, and she has become habituated to the whole routine.  We did not realize how much until one morning he threw it north of east instead of south.  Even though she watched him do it, she still ran southeast and sniffed the ground in ever widening circles, becoming more and more frustrated when she could not find the treat.  Finally he had to get up and walk in the direction he threw it and call her over.  Eventually her nose found it, but you would have thought we had punished her as she dragged herself back without her customary cheerfulness, her tail sagging almost between her legs.  She was not happy again until he had thrown the next treat in the right direction—translation:  the one she expected.
            Have you ever shown a friend a scripture that teaches something obvious, only to have him say, “I can’t see that?”  Have you ever had her read something out loud only to answer your unspoken comment with, “But I don’t believe it that way?”  Almost unbelievable, isn’t it?  Don’t think for a minute that you are immune to the same failing.  What you can see, what you do believe, depends a whole lot on what you are looking for. 

The worst thing you can do in your Bible study is go searching for something to back up what you already think.  In fact, I often tell brand new classes, “The biggest hindrance to learning is what you think you already know.”  I have had students who were intelligent and sincere look at something everyone else could see but not see it, and nearly every time it is because of some preconceived notion they grew up with or heard somewhere a long time ago and have not been able to let go.  Even something as plain as the nose on their faces.

What you already know will also raise a stop sign in your learning path.  As soon as you find what you thought was there, you will stop looking, when just a little more study and uninhibited consideration would have shown you something brand new.  The same thing happens when you rely on old notes.  You will never see anything new until you rid yourself of old ideas.  You will never find a deeper understanding if you think you have already dredged as far as you can go.

Jesus said, “For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind,” John 9:39.  He was not talking to unbelievers.  He was not talking to pagans.  He was talking to people who thought they knew God’s word inside out, who could quote whole books, who kept the law in the minutest detail, proud of how exact they were—even beyond exact—and the fact that they were children of Abraham.  Guess who that translates to today? 

When was the last time you learned anything new?  Thought any new thoughts?  Discovered any new connections in the scriptures?  When was the last time you changed your mind about something?  Can you see it if it’s thrown in a direction you never thought of before, or are you as blind as those people who were sure they knew what their Messiah would look like and how he would act?  When he came out of left field, they were lost.  How about you?
 
…and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself…? Rom 2:19-21.
 
Dene Ward
 

This morning I sat outside by the remains of last night’s fire, drinking my last cup of coffee and petting the dogs.  Suddenly I heard the hawk in a tree just across the drive.  This was the closest he had come in awhile.  I do not know if it was the first hawk that grew up on our property, or his son or grandson, but it was one of those I had talked to as he sat in his nest as a baby.  He would never have gotten that close to me otherwise.

            No other bird would have talked to me that way either.  He didn’t call out with the loud, echoing cry of a mature hawk, but with the baby sounds he used to make way up in his nest as I talked to him, the same sounds he always greeted his parents with when they brought him food during the day.  This was intimate hawk talk, not formal hawk talk.  He still recognized me from his baby days, and knew I was a friend.  He knew he could let down his guard and be that little baby hawk one more time.

            Sometimes I get tired of being grown up.  I get tired of being the mature one who is always supposed to know what to say and how to say it.  Sometimes I want to be the little kid who can run to a great big grown-up, spill my heart, and have him tell me everything is going to be all right.

            That is exactly what we can do with God.  Job said, My soul is weary of my life; I will give free course to my complaint; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul, 10:1.  Job said he could tell God everything, no holding back—“free course.”  David said, I pour out my complaint before Him, I show Him my trouble, Psa 142:2.  Both of these strong men of God had moments when they let it all out, just like little children who are afraid and don’t understand.  Why do I think I need to be any better than they?

            My children used to come to me with their troubles, usually small, inconsequential things.  But to them, those things were HUGE.  I never acted like they were silly to worry over them, but did my best to comfort them, and even fix the things I could fix for them.  Most of the things we find ourselves going to God with are inconsequential in His grand scheme of things, but He still treats them as important because they are important to His children.  He will listen to even the smallest concern, the pettiest, even the selfish ones, as so many turn out to be. 

            We never need to hold back with God, especially now, because we have a Mediator who understands how those small things can seem so large. We can run to God any time we need to, and talk as a child to a Father who listens and who cares.  It’s okay to have a little baby talk with God.

For we have not a high priest that cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but one who has been in all points tempted like as we are yet without sin. Let us therefore draw near with boldness unto the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy, and may find grace to help in time of need, Heb 4:15,16.

Dene Ward

Due to the huge number of college football games seen in my home, that commercial in which cows turn on lights, parachute onto a football field, and stand on top of a car pestering the little boy in the back seat has evidently made an impression on me.  A survey company called the other day. A long time ago I made a few dollars doing phone surveys and appreciated anyone who did not slam the phone down, so I answered their questions. “Which fast food chain comes to mind first?”  I answered immediately, not with any of the hamburger, pizza, sandwich, or taco joints; but the chicken place with the name I never knew how to pronounce until I was grown.

            Those commercials stand out to me for a reason—those are dairy cows!  They don’t need to worry about becoming someone’s hamburger. 

            Does it make a difference?  Only to purists, I suppose.  The commercials certainly do what they are designed to do as evidenced by my quick answer to the survey question.

            But for some things it does make a difference.  Jesus warned that blind leaders will cause others to fall into the ditch too; God wasn’t going to save them because someone led them the wrong way.  John tells us in the fourth chapter of his first epistle that God expects us to “prove the spirits” because many false ones have gone out into the world.  Paul marveled in chapter one that the Galatians had been fooled so soon after their conversion.  None of them told us not to worry, that God would save us if we were tricked into believing something that wasn’t so.

            A long time ago, a prophet was sent to warn King Jeroboam about his sinful ways.  God told that prophet not to stop anywhere on his way home.  An older prophet sent word for him to come by for dinner.  When the younger prophet told him he could not, the older prophet lied, saying, “God said it was all right for you to eat with me.”  Instead of checking with God first, the younger prophet stopped by the older prophet’s home.  Before they had finished their meal God came to him and told him he would be punished for his disobedience, and, sure enough, on the way home he was killed by a lion (1 Kings 13).

            Not knowing the difference between what God said and what this man had said, even a prophet of God, cut his life short.  God expected that young man to check with Him when he heard a command other than the original.  God expects the same of you and me.  And even though this young prophet probably thought he could rely on one of his own, one older and supposedly wiser as well, that didn’t mean the message was correct. 

            One cow is not the same as the other, no matter what it looks like, or what we think about it.  Believe me, you could tell the difference between steaks cut from dairy cattle and those cut from beef cattle.  And the first time you tried to milk a steer would definitely be the last.  Believing a false message, no matter who tells you and no matter what you want to believe, will not make that message true, and the results will be much more serious than a tough steak or even a kick in the head. .

But evil men and impostors shall wax worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. But you abide in the things which you have learned and have been assured of, knowing of whom you have learned them, 2 Tim 3:13,14.

Dene Ward

This is an old one, but the lesson is always current--for someone out there.

            Magdi is now eleven years old.  She was the first dog we ever had that would not only chase a ball and bring it back, but catch it in the air like a fly ball, or chase a ball on the bounce, leaping four feet into the air to catch it.  If you said, “Bring me a ball,” she ran to the nearest one, picked it up, and brought it to you.  If you said, “Give it to me,” she would drop it on the ground next to your feet or place it in your hands if you bent over.  It was almost as if she really understood English.

            She also loved to play “soccer,” chasing a soccer ball around the field, then guarding it when one of us ran up as if to take it away, and take off again after she caught her breath, even balancing it on her shoulders or head or nose as she ran.  She had a large exercise ball, nearly a foot higher than her shoulders, that she would treat the same way.  Once in awhile, it rolled so fast that as she tried to jump up to grab it, it threw her over the top.  She would simply get up and go again.

             Her bones and joints have steadily betrayed her this last year.  She drags one hind foot occasionally because it hurts too much to pick it up.  Her knees are swollen and stiff and some days she doesn’t even try to get up when we go outside; she simply looks up and gives one floppy tail wag—thump, glad to see you, boss.  She has stopped racing to the gate to greet us when we come home, but if we have been away awhile, she will slowly walk until she gets there.  I always feel so bad when we get the gate closed and start down the drive before she makes it.  She has to turn and retrace those several hundred steps, but if we stand and wait at the door, she will eventually make it for a pat on the head and the words she wants most to hear, “Good dog.”

            Pick up a ball, though, and her ears stand up even if she does not.  If you bounce it, she will rise to her feet, though a bit unsteadily, and stand poised ready to run.  We have learned to merely toss it now, rather than throwing it as hard and far as we can, and she hobbles after it, all thought of pain and age and weariness abandoned. 

            The other day Keith blew off the roof, leaving piles of leaves around the house, and wads of moss clinging in the topmost branches of the azaleas.  I spent the next morning trying to “rake” it down to the ground.  Magdi thought I had something--something that might be interesting, like a snake or a lizard--and she was up instantly, running from bush to bush, even standing precariously on her aching hind legs, trying to help me get whatever it was I didn’t want in those bushes.  She has “taken care of” many snakes and lizards over the years, as well as moles, tortoises, armadillos, and possums.  It’s her job, and since all these surgeries started, she has taken her duty as my protector much more seriously.  Despite her creaking joints she was ready to work and if necessary, rescue me from whatever monster lurked in the azaleas.

            I have been reading through the Old Testament laws concerning the elderly lately for some classes I have been teaching.  What has become most apparent is how carefully God made arrangements for those and other equally helpless people like orphans and strangers, to be taken care of.  Did you know that the penalty for oppressing a widow or orphan was death (Ex 22:22-24)?  Did you know that sin is listed in the same category as adultery and witchcraft (Mal 3:5)?  Truly we need to take this more to heart than we usually do.

            But I also noticed God’s expectations for those same people themselves.  The older men and women are to train the younger (Titus 2).  In times of struggle they should be fonts of wisdom, not buckets of bitter resentments and regrets.  In the midst of fiery disputes they should be sources of temperance and cooling thoughts not fanners of the flame.

            As to the widows indeed, widows with no family who had met certain qualifications and were still able-bodied, they were to pledge themselves to work for the church in return for monetary support.  All those women were over sixty mind you, yet God said if they could still work for Him, they should, (1 Tim 5:9-12).

            What about Anna?  She stayed at the temple, prophesying every day.  She might possibly have been one of those women who worked there (Ex 38:8), even though she was over eighty.

            Simeon, who was also elderly, was still actively searching for the Messiah when Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the Temple that first time.  The Spirit sent him that special day not only to see the answer to his many prayers, but to testify to the identity of the young babe.

            People of God work for God and serve Him as long as they possibly can.  Working for God takes one’s mind off himself, off her own problems and pains.  As long as I can, I should do what I can, perhaps adapting to new circumstances, but never sitting back and saying, “Well that’s it, I’m done.”  I have known mortally ill Christians who were still talking with people who needed help, still holding the hands of those who came to visit and cheering them up instead, while only days from death. 

            I know an old dog who still loves to play, who still wants more than anything to please her masters.  I think she will probably die with a ball in her mouth, trying to bring it back for one last throw.  I hope I never drop the ball for the Lord.

The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree; he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of Jehovah; they shall flourish in the courts of our God.  They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be full of sap and green to show that Jehovah is upright; He is my rock and there is no unrighteousness in Him, Psalm 92:12-15.

Dene Ward

Shortly after we got Chloe as a 9 week old puppy, we had a pile of dirt delivered.  Eventually it became the base for our carport slab, but for several weeks it sat there as we dealt with one problem after the other, most notably eye surgeries.  Chloe loved that pile of dirt.  She sat on top of it every day.  I suppose because she was little, it made her feel bigger, especially with an older dog who was not too friendly at the beginning.

            But she has continued to love sitting up high.  We often catch her perched on the landscaping timbers surrounding our raised flower beds, surveying her domain.  It may only be six inches higher than the field, but that is enough for her. Chloe will always love to be on top of her world.

            But even the highest she can sit does not help her see through the woods to the next property.  All she knows of the world is our small five acres.  She cannot comprehend that other dogs live in other places far, far away.  Sometimes she hears the neighbor’s dogs barking across the fence, through the woods and over the creek, and she sits up to listen, but when they stop, she forgets they are even there.

            Chloe’s world is Chloe-centric.  Despite the fact that we have a consciousness of others, we are much the same.  What happens to us is what matters to us.  How my life goes is the important thing to me.  That can cause us big problems when things begin to go wrong, just as it did for Rebekah.

“Why am I even alive?” she asked God when she began to have trouble with her pregnancy.  For twenty years she had been barren.  It was almost cruel of God, she must have thought, to give her what she had asked for and then make it seen that he was taking it back.  But God told her that she was not losing her baby.  Far from it, she was carrying twins, and this pregnancy was more far reaching than just fulfilling her desire to have a child.  Two nations would come from her, he said, and the older would serve the younger, Gen 25:23.  Yet even with those encouraging words, Rebekah still got it wrong.  She thought the prophecy was about her children themselves, not the nations that would come from them, and in her zeal to help God make it happen, she deceived her husband when the time came to bless those sons.  She forgot something as basic as this—maybe blind Isaac could not see whom he was blessing, but God could.  He did not need her help to accomplish his purpose, and his purpose is what mattered.

            We cannot see over the fence to know God’s purposes.  What happens to me, no matter how large it is to me, may be completely insignificant in the plan of God.  That does not mean He does not care about me.  It does not mean He is not listening to me and answering my prayers.  But it may very well mean that I will not understand the answer I get, or even like it much.  Sitting on top of my little dirt pile will not give me God’s perspective.  I simply trust, believe, and obey.  God knows what is best.  He really does sit on high.  He really does see it all.  That should be all that matters.

Who is like unto Jehovah our God, who has set his seat on high, who humbles himself to behold the things that are in heaven and in the earth? Psa 113:5.

Dene Ward

            It came up in conversation the other day when we were discussing the catbird at my feeder.  Where did the expression, “sitting in the catbird seat,” come from?  So I looked it up.

            It is a distinctly American expression, probably because the gray catbird is a North American bird.  Catbirds like to sit in the highest branches of the trees to sing and display.  The expression has come to mean being in a superior or advantageous position.  One of the first uses found is in a story by James Thurber in which he talks about a batter in a baseball game being “in the catbird seat” with three balls and no strikes. 

            You know the problem with being “in the catbird seat?”  You can get a little too sure of yourself.  Obadiah prophesied against the nation of Edom, a country full of mountains, whose inhabitants lived high above any who would try to attack their nearly impregnable rocky dwellings.  The pride of your heart has deceived you, O you who dwell in the clefts of the rock, whose habitation is high; who says in his heart, Who shall bring me down to the ground?  Though you mount on high as the eagle, and though your nest be set among the stars, I will bring you down from there, says Jehovah, Oba 1:3,4.

            The Edomites, though they were brothers of the Israelites through their father Esau, had forgotten that Jehovah made those very mountains they counted on.  That meant that He could destroy them with a word if He were of a mind to, and He was.  The Edomites were subject to Israel off and on throughout history, and were finally run out of their land completely by the Nabataeans. 

            It is easy for us to perch ourselves high above others and “display.”  Like the Jews in John 8, we want to boast of our spiritual heritage and our quest to follow the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  We are Abraham's seed, and have never yet been in bondage to any man: how do you say, You shall be made free? John 8:33.

            They bring it up again in verse 39 and Jesus answers, If you were Abraham's children, you would do the works of Abraham.    Abraham would have denounced them all.  What would he say to us, who are supposed to be “Abraham’s seed, heirs according to promise?” Gal 3:29, when pride causes us to place ourselves above the rest of the religious world as if we were more deserving of salvation.  Jesus warns, For everyone that exalts himself shall be humbled; and he that humbles himself shall be exalted, Luke 14:11.  Just like those Edomites of old, God can bring us down off that catbird seat.

            He can do that because that is where He dwells.  Jehovah is exalted; for he dwells on high: he has filled Zion with justice and righteousness, Isa 33:5.  We count on Him, not on ourselves.  Jehovah also will be a high tower for the oppressed, A high tower in times of trouble, Psalm 9:9.  Just as the imagery in Obadiah, He is a high steep place where we are removed from danger. 

            And in a Messianic passage he tells us that He will take us to new heights. And Jehovah their God will save them in that day as the flock of his people; for they shall be as the stones of a crown, lifted on high over his land, Zech 9:16.  As children of the Most High God we have an exalted position nothing on this earth can possibly match.

            Sitting in the catbird seat is a good thing.  Just remember who put you there.

Yea, they shall sing of the ways of Jehovah; For great is the glory of Jehovah. For though Jehovah is high, yet he has respect unto the lowly; But the haughty he knows from afar, Psalm 138:5,6

Dene Ward

            We have another hawk nest, this one in the oak northeast of our bedroom window, the closest any have ever come.  But that isn’t the only nest we have this spring.

            The grape arbor to the west of the boys’ bedrooms is housing a dove’s nest, not the first time for that either.  This past winter we had a brown thrasher visit the feeder for the first time.  It is a big bird, about the same size as the mockingbird who also came calling for the first time.  We noticed afterward that the thrasher and its mate often flew around the carport, and finally a couple of weeks ago, Keith spotted its nest in the oak tree on the southeast corner of the carport, the mother’s tail feather the only thing visible from the ground.  And then we found the mockingbird’s nest in the water oak where we back out of the carport to head down the drive—four speckled, pale blue eggs in a perilously low slung limb.  Just this past weekend we finally saw the chicks—four orange mouths opened wide.

            While I am certain we have had other nests in all these years, this is the first time we have known where four were and could keep tabs on them.  It isn’t just curiosity.  I learned years ago when the first hawks set up housekeeping in the big old pine east of the garden that you can learn a lot from watching these creatures.

            The newest hawk couple plays tag-team parenting.  Every morning she calls from the nest, and if I am outside I can hear him answer from a long way off.  Gradually he flies in closer, the back and forth conversation continuing the whole time.  Then he will land in the top of the oak, ten to fifteen feet from her.  I suppose it takes her a minute to get herself up and around.  She is usually hunkered down so low in the nest you can see nothing but the round top of her head and maybe her eyes, even with a pair of binoculars.  Finally he flies to the nest and as soon as he lands she takes off, giving him room to set for awhile as she tends to her own business.  In the evening he brings her food so she doesn’t have to leave, and then roosts for the night nearby, a sentry guarding his family.

            When the first hawk chicks hatched four years ago, watching those parents in action could keep me occupied for a long time.  At first the father brought the food while the mother sat keeping the little ones warm.  After they had grown a bit and could be left alone for a short while, both parents were bringing food.  Back and forth they flew at least half the day.  It took that much to keep them fed. 

            As the babies grew older and larger, the mother often perched on a limb next to the nest for it was now too crowded.  But once, those rowdy youngsters got to playing too wildly.  I wondered if they might not be in danger of falling out of the nest.  Evidently the mother thought the same thing because she jumped into the nest, spread her wings and began tapping down on the chicks’ heads, gradually calming them.  Before long she hopped back out and they remained still and quiet.  I could just imagine her telling them, “Now behave yourselves or you’re going to be hurt!”

            Have you seen the “hurt bird” trick?  Whenever we walk near the grape arbor, the mother dove leaves the nest, flying to the ground not too far away, and walks, dragging a wing.  She is trying to lure what she sees as a predator away from her babies by making herself seem like an easy mark.

            The mockingbird mother will fly as close as she has ever dared come to us, then land on a nearby limb any time we approach her nest.  We watch her carefully to avoid being attacked as we stand on our toes to peer in.  As soon as we leave she is in the nest checking on her babies.

            Another time I came upon a cardinal couple in those days when I could still safely walk lap after lap around the fence line of the property.  They sat on the fence just ahead of me, the male between me and the female.  Ordinarily cardinals will fly at the least hint of danger.  That male would not leave the fence as I closed in on him.  Finally I was close enough to the female beyond him that she flew off into the wild myrtles across the fence.  The minute she was safe he flew too.  Chivalry may be dead in humans, but evidently not in the avian world.

            I know these birds are only doing what God put into them.  They are following instinct, but it seems to me that we could learn a lot from them.  If God thought these attributes, the care and discipline of the young and providing for and protecting the family, were important, shouldn’t that be important to us too?  Why do things like worldly success, prestigious careers, and boatloads of money and possessions seem to take all of our time and energy, while our children subsist on our leftovers, of which there is often precious little? 

            I have seen hawk parents teaching their children how to hunt so they can survive.  I have seen human parents send their children to Bible classes with blank lesson books, or no books or Bible at all.  I have seen cardinal parents feed their children one sunflower seed at a time, a slow and tedious process.  I have seen human parents plop their children in front of the TV to keep them entertained for hours, heedless of what it does to their minds.

            When a bird knows better than we do how to care for their young, we are in a sad state.  Maybe God put these examples in front of us to teach us a thing a two.  Being “bird-brained” might not be such a bad thing after all.

You make springs gush forth in the valleys; they flow between the hills; they give drink to every beast of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst.  Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches. The trees of the Lord are watered abundantly, the cedars of Lebanon that he planted, in them the birds build their nests; the stork has her home in the fir trees. These all look to you to give them food in due season.  When you give it to them they gather it up; when you open your hand they are filled with good things.  When you send forth your Spirit they are created, and you renew the face of the ground.  May the glory of the Lord endure forever; may the Lord rejoice in his works, Psa 104:10-12, 16,17,27,28,30,31.

Dene Ward

A wren perched on a branch in a nearby oak sapling as I sat by the fire pit one morning reading.  I did not know he was there until he started singing as only wrens can—clear and lovely and loud, especially for such a small bird.  I knew I would never see him, but I “sang” back anyway.  You don’t have to be able to whistle to sing to a bird, evidently.  I just copied his pitch and timbre the best I could and sort of “trilled.”  Immediately he answered back.

            We sang back and forth to each other for at least five minutes, then I had to get up to poke the fire, and he flew.  Not ten minutes later he was back in the same tree, singing.  I answered, and here we went once again, singing back and forth for several minutes.

            I have done that with other birds as well.  Just imitate their songs, and they will sing right back.  Even if you deviate a little, perhaps eight short phrases instead of nine or ending on a high note instead of a low, they will recognize it and return your call.

            I am more than happy to sing to a bird.  It still puzzles me why it is so hard for me to talk with my fellow human beings, especially about spiritual things—at least I know what they are saying to me.  Particularly when they start the conversation, why shouldn’t it be easy to simply answer?

            Birds are not judgmental, you say.  Trust me, birds are extremely judgmental.  If you don’t say what they want to hear, or if you say it too loudly or from too close a position, they will simply up and fly away. 

            And really, isn’t it easy to find something that most humans will talk about? 

            If you are standing in line and the service is slow, what do you usually talk about with the person behind you?  “They really are busy today.” 

            If you are waiting for a bus and it’s about to rain, what do you usually say?  “Hope that bus gets here before the rain does.” 

            I was checking out at a grocery store the morning of our last anniversary, having laid crabmeat, baby greens, rib eye steaks, shallots, lemons, yellow fingerling potatoes, cremini mushrooms, Granny Smith apples, pecans, and vanilla Haagen-Dazs on the counter.  A man I had never seen in my life walked up behind me in line, took one look at the bounty lying there and said, “Man, I want to go home with you tonight!”  Before I finished checking out I found out that his wife had died two years before and that the next week would have been their fortieth anniversary.

            And we can’t talk to people.

            We won’t talk to people, even when they start the conversation.  Try singing back in his tune instead of ramming another one down his throat.  Before long you can begin to deviate a little, and gradually get your points in.  Isn’t that what Jesus often did? 

            “Can I have a drink of water?” He asked a woman at a well.   Soon they were talking about spiritual water, and soon more people were coming to hear Him.

            Don’t ignore the wrens in your life.  Sing back and make a new friend, and perhaps a new brother.

All your works shall give thanks to you, O Jehovah; and your saints shall bless you.  They shall speak of the glory of your kingdom, and talk of your power; to make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glory of the majesty of his kingdom, Psalm 145:10-12.

           

Dene Ward

            I was walking out to spray the periwinkles one recent afternoon.  Those beautiful little flowers wilt easily in the heat, and we have found that several cool mists a day can keep them alive.  Lately the heat has been especially oppressive, highs in the upper 90s with a heat index of 110.  Stepping outside is like stepping into an oven, one with steam vents, so frequent spraying is necessary.

            As I rounded the corner something off to the side jumped.  I stopped immediately.  In our area, especially in the afternoon shade, when something moves, you stop and do not continue on until you have identified it.  Whatever it was had also stopped.  I took one more step and it moved again.  Something very small jumped up to the huge live oak on the east side of the house and clung to the trunk.  I backed up slowly, then turned around and went for the binoculars.

            When I came back it moved again, and this time I realized it was flying, sort of.  Even though it was only ten feet away I could not tell what it was until I had focused the lenses on the rough taupe bark.  It was a tiny brown puffball of a bird.  I stepped closer and this time two flew.  Another step and I saw a third. Then a wren sang above my head and I turned to see two full grown adults watching from the roof line.  Now I was sure.  That scraggly nest on top of the push broom hanging in the carport had managed to produce babies after all—at least three. 

            About that time Magdi came to investigate.  Any time I stand still and she notices, she comes to my side.  I think she is in protector mode, assuming I have seen something dangerous.  All the babies flew then and she gave chase. The last one was not quite as adept at flying.  It barely made it to the handlebars of the push mower in the smaller shed.  Keith had come out by then to see too.  Quickly he called her off.  She can chase down all the rattlesnakes and water moccasins she wants to, but a baby wren is off limits.  We watched a few more minutes, keeping rein on the dogs, then managed to get them away, interested in something else so the baby birds would be safe—at least from two Australian cattle dogs.

            Isn’t that what God has promised us?  Not that we will never be tempted; not that we will never have trials and tribulations, but that He will keep watch and there will never be more than we can handle.  The Lord is faithful who will not allow you to be tempted above that which you are able to bear, 1 Cor 10:13.  He is always watching over us, ready to shoo the Devil away if things get too difficult. 

            Still, it is up to us to resist.  It is up to us to endure.  He won’t do that for us—we have to flap our own wings and fly away.  I am certain that last little wren learned to fly a little better that day, beating those wings faster and harder as the danger approached, a danger a hundred of times bigger and heavier than it was.  The next time it will be easier.  If we are not there, it will stand a better chance.

            But God is never “not there.”  He knows the limits of our endurance.  He knows what we need to grow strong.  He knows how to keep the dangers away from us far better than we can keep the dogs away from those baby wrens.  We had to go inside eventually and leave them to themselves, but God will never leave us alone.  The Lord Himself learned how to endure and He will help us any way He can. 

            When things get tough, flap your wings a little faster and trust.

I will lift up my eyes unto the mountains: from where shall my help come?  My help comes from Jehovah who made Heaven and earth.  He will not suffer your foot to be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber.  Jehovah will keep you from all evil, He will keep your soul.  Jehovah will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever more, Psa 121:  1-3,7,8.

Dene Ward

We watched a couple of wrens build a nest on our carport.  We keep a push broom there, hanging upside down near the ceiling, and they decided those stiff bristles would make a nice base for a home.  Back and forth those small pudgy brown birds flew all evening, sometimes carrying twigs twice their own length and clumps of moss over half their girth.

    The next morning we went out to see the finished product.  We two judgmental humans stood their bemused.  It was the ugliest, rattiest, messiest nest we had ever seen.  It was way too big for wrens.  Because it lay on top of a narrow broom, it had to lean up against the side wall to keep from falling off, and that put the hole on the side instead of the top of the nest.  Didn’t those silly birds know the eggs would roll out?  And besides that, it’s July, far too late for birds to be building nests and laying eggs.  We said all these things, looking at one another and shaking our heads.

    “But,” said, Keith, “they are the birds and I assume they know what they are doing.”

    Of course they do.  Birds have been building nests and laying eggs from Genesis 1 until now and they do just fine.  In fact, it is a rare morning I don’t step outside and hear half a dozen wrens singing back and forth to one another.  They are not in danger of extinction.

    I wonder why we don’t trust God that way.  If anyone knows what he is doing, He does.  He has been doing it far longer than wrens have been building nests, and the earth still turns, the sun still shines, and the seasons continue to revolve one into the other.  I could not do any of these things, and if any one of them suddenly stopped, so would we.

    Yet I second guess and complain because things don’t go the way I think they should.  Like a child who thinks he should have everything his own way, I forget that there is a larger purpose at work here, one far more important than my own selfish wants and desires.  And, like a child, I don’t always realize what is in my own best interests.  It takes a mature outlook to see beyond the moment, to understand the complexities of circumstance that transcend my own time and place.

    God knows what He is doing.  If I can trust a couple of little brown birds, surely I can trust Him.

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said, Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?  Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?  Tell me if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements—surely you know!...Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry to God for help, and wander about for lack of food?  Is it by your understanding that the hawk soars and spreads its wings toward the south?  Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes his nest on high?  Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?  He who argues with God, let him answer it, Job 38:1,2,4,5,41; 39:26,27; 40:2.

Dene Ward