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

One spring morning a couple of years ago I sat on the carport snapping beans.  The humidity was still low, the bugs were few, and a cool breeze ruffled my curls and made the morning comfortable.  The minute I set myself up in a lawn chair, a blue plastic five gallon bucket at the ready for tips and tails, and a pink hospital tub full of early pole beans in my lap, the dogs came running, looking for a handout.

    “These are green beans,” I told them, “not treats.”  Yet they sat watching me expectantly, one dog parked next to either knee, ears at attention, tails swishing sparkly grains of sand across the rough concrete.  Occasionally Magdi’s big brown eyes strayed from my face to my hands and she licked her chops.

    “Okay,” I told her, “but you’ll be sorry,” and I handed her a long, flat, raw bean.  I could hardly believe it as she crunched away, swallowed and begged for another.  So I rifled through the tub and found one too big and tough for human consumption.  Down the hatch it went.

    Chloe, who was then just over a year old, bumped my knee with her nose.  “Me too,” her equally big brown eyes said, so I gave her a bean.  Instantly she spat it out.  “Yuk!” was written all over her furry face.

    “Told ya,” I smugly commented.

    Yet Magdi continued to down the culls as I found them, relishing every bite.  Chloe watched Magdi, then looked at the bean she had rejected.  She sniffed it and her ears drooped a bit.  She looked at Magdi again, who was happily chomping a bug-bitten throwaway.  Chloe looked at her bean and licked it.  She looked at Magdi again, then gingerly picked up her own bean and began to chew.  She managed to choke the thing down, then sat up and looked at me with that familiar expectant gaze.

    “You’re kidding,” I said to her, but handed her another bean.  This one went down more easily.  Luckily I had a large supply of fresh-picked beans and Keith had not been too careful in his picking so I had plenty of bad ones to share.  By the time I finished Magdi had long since had her fill, but Chloe was scouring the carport like a fuzzy, red-headed vacuum cleaner, scarfing up even the tips and tails that had missed the trash bucket.

    Chloe was no longer a puppy, but she was still learning from her older mentor.  The simple “peer pressure” of seeing someone she respected eating something she didn’t even like influenced her to do the same thing.

    It’s time to look around and see whom you might be influencing.  Just because there are no toddlers in the house doesn’t mean you don’t need to be careful.  Whatever your age, there is someone younger watching how you handle the universal experiences of life so they will know what to do when their turn comes.

    And to the other side of the equation—why do you do the things you do?  Are you as strong as you think you are when the world presses you to act in certain ways?  Are you doing things you don’t even enjoy just to fit in?  Stop watching how others react.  Stop making decisions based on something besides right and wrong.  If you don’t, you may find yourself licking a rough concrete slab, eating a pile of tough, bug-bitten green beans just because everyone else is doing it.

Be careful to observe all these words that I command you, that it may go well with you and with your children after you forever when you do what is good and right in the sight of the Lord your God.  When the Lord your God cuts off before you the nations whom you go in to dispossess, and you dispossess them and dwell in their land, take care that you be not ensnared to follow after them, after they have been destroyed before you, and that you do not inquire about their gods, saying, ‘How did these nations serve their gods?—that I may also do the same.’ You shall not worship your God in that way…Everything that I command you, you shall be careful to do.  You shall not add to it nor take from it, Deut 12:28-32.

Dene Ward

Chloe has found her niche.  We have never questioned her smarts—her breed is known for them, but we never really figured out what it was she was good at till now.  
    Magdi, her fellow Australian cattle dog, plays “shortstop” with Keith as he hits tennis balls her way; starting from a crouch and taking off just in time to stop the ball.  She plays “outfielder,” catching fly balls with her mouth that I would have a problem with if I had a giant mitt.  She chases a giant exercise ball around the field, pushing it up on her shoulders and balancing it a few seconds as she runs along.  If you tell her to bring you a ball, she will.  She is ready for play any time you choose, and even when you don’t.    
    But Chloe?  She has no interest in balls.  She had much rather sit around chewing on a stick or rolling in the grass.  All this exercise stuff is for the birds—or perhaps for less smart dogs?
    Then she discovered grasshoppers—the big brown flying kind, as big as small birds.  When she happens upon one, she chases it, even as it flies, and leaps into the air to catch it.  Then she plops down on the ground immediately and begins crunching.  No, she cannot chase balls, and certainly cannot catch high flies, but she can catch big brown grasshoppers just fine.  We have noticed that there are fewer of them this year than any other recently.
    We all have a gift, a natural ability that God has placed somewhere in all those genes.  The trick is to find it.  Too many are dissatisfied with the gift they have been given and try to exercise one they do not have.  Why?  Because, as much as we might talk about humility, we want the flashy gifts that put us in the forefront.  A gift for visiting shut-ins and knowing just the right words to say does not garner much attention.  Neither does a gift for cleaning—either the meetinghouse or the homes of the sick.  But both of those things may make far more difference in someone’s life than whether or not a man can lead the singing well or teach a good class.  
    Yet song leading and teaching seem to be the most desirable gifts in our estimation.  We have forgotten their purpose.   
    Leading a congregation in a song service is not about choosing songs one likes or that he feels show off his ability.  It is about enabling a group to more effectively praise God and edify themselves.  A good song leader makes thoughtful selections for the occasion, pitches them so that every part can easily sing, and actually leads so that the group does not bog down in either tempo or pitch.  
    Teaching a class is not about standing in front of a group and allowing everyone to have their say, like some sort of verbal traffic cop.  A teacher should have prepared long enough and hard enough that anything anyone pops out with off the cuff is far less valuable than what he has prepared.  It is more edifying to listen to an enlightening and challenging lecture than to hear yet again what everyone says every time a certain subject comes up, things we could write down before they were even said because we have heard them so many times.
    So what is your talent, and more to the point, are you willing to use the one you have, instead of the one you wish you had?  If I am griping because everyone gets a turn to teach but me, maybe it’s because I am the only one who realizes that I am not any good at it.  What I am good at may be far more helpful to my spiritual family.
    Chloe has found her niche, and she is happy to fill it.  She doesn’t look at Magdi with resentment because we only bat tennis balls for her.  She doesn’t run around picking up balls lying on the ground, thinking that is the same thing as catching a thirty foot high fly, nor does she stand there barking at the giant exercise ball as if that makes her its master.
    God gives us gifts—all of us.  It would be singularly ungrateful not to discover them and use them.  He gives them so we can help one another get to Heaven.  What if you decide you don’t like yours and someone misses the trip because of you?
    
For even as we have many members in one body, and all the members have not the same office: so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and severally members one of another. And having gifts differing according to the grace that was given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of our faith; or serving, let us give ourselves to service; or he that teaches, to his teaching; or he that exhorts, to his exhorting: he that gives, with liberality; he that rules, with diligence; he that shows mercy, with cheerfulness, Rom 12:4-8.

Dene Ward

Magdi is getting old.  Her red coat is turning white.  She cannot hear as well as she used to and often sleeps through things that have Chloe up and running.  Her gait is crooked and her joints stiff.  Sometimes she loses strength in her hind legs and they simply fall out from under her.  But pick up a tennis ball, bounce it once or twice, hold it out for her to see, and instantly the years melt away.  Her ears prick, her posture straightens, and she crouches ready to run as soon as you throw it.  Her eyes practically will you to throw it.  When you do, she runs as if she doesn’t hurt at all, and will even jump into the air like old times to snatch it on the bounce.  This dog loves nothing more than to chase a tennis ball, and would do it until she collapsed if we let her.  

If you have never visited with an older Christian, you should.  I am no longer surprised by their life stories.  Most of these good people have lived far more exciting lives than I, and have been through suffering I hope to never experience.  The wisdom in their words will stand you in good stead if you pay attention.  

Their knowledge of the scriptures is like that tennis ball to Magdi.  They may sit and talk quietly, or hardly talk at all, but then you mention the Bible and it isn’t just a light that shines in their eyes, it’s a fire that starts burning and gets brighter as they continue.  They seem to tap into a hidden energy source, sit up straighter and lean forward with an intent look that will burn itself into your heart, along with the accumulated knowledge and experience they want so badly to impart.  It is their legacy, and too often we don’t claim it because old people are “boring”--visiting with them is simply a duty we fulfill as seldom as possible.  Besides, who can count on their minds to be clear anyway—nothing useful can come from them.  So our society trains us, and so we continue to make the foolish mistakes of the naïve when the help is there for the taking.

We have another problem in our society—the desire for instant gratification.  Wisdom comes from accumulated experiences and from taking in the word of God—the source of all wisdom—on a regular basis year after year after year.  The reason those older folks have a fire burning in their hearts is because they feed it daily.  We are too immature to stick it out.  We want it now—read a few chapters and become a sage overnight, or at least within a month or two, we seem to think.  If we are not careful, when it comes our turn to be the old wise heads, we will have no fuel to burn, no warmth and glow to pass on to the next generation.  

So today’s thought is two fold.  Go visit some older folks.  Sit and listen and take in what they have to offer.  Then go home and get yourself ready to be that older generation.  It takes more smarts, more strength, and more diligence than you think.

 God, you have taught me from my youth; and I still declare your wondrous works.  Yea, even when I am old and grayheaded, O God, forsake me not, until I have declared your strength unto the next generation, your might to every one that is to come. Psalm 71:17,18.

Dene Ward