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