We have put up several new feeders and the bird population has exploded.  We see more new kinds and more of them than ever before.  We have also seen a few new bird antics as well.

            Yesterday we looked out in time to see two doves running around the pole one of the feeders hangs from.  While cardinals and titmice usually fly the four feet up from the ground to the feeders, the doves are content to peck off the ground what falls, and a great deal does.  Pick up the binoculars and watch the seeds fly every time one of the birds “on high” pecks at it.  Meanwhile, down below, the doves revel in the raining plenty.

            Except those two.  For several minutes they chased one another around and around and around that pole, the one trying to shoo the other away from the free meal.  Occasionally the one in front got far enough ahead to stop and peck a seed, but the one behind, running literally ankle deep in food, never got a bite.

            Kind of reminds me of a few Bible classes I have sat in.  Two men wrapped up in their own opinions, chase one another around in circles with their “logic,” and neither one of them get any of the spiritual nourishment being offered that morning.  Or one man desperately tries to have his meal while another of differing opinion cannot allow it and pursues him with “arguments about words.”  In fact, if the man isn’t careful, he will usually be cornered right after class as the chase continues.  Like those two birds I watched that day, neither one is fed, despite the banquet laid right in front of them.

            Paul calls that sort of behavior “carnal” and immature, 1 Cor 3:1-3.  He equates it with orgies and drunkenness, Rom 13:13.  James puts it on a par with “every vile practice,” 3:16.  All of them link quarreling with things like jealousy, envy, hostility, and selfishness.  James even adds murder and adultery to the mix, 4:1-4.  It is one thing to have a spirited discussion of the Scriptures.  It is another entirely to refuse to consider new ideas, clinging to beliefs out of pride or dismissing a point simply because of who presented it, all cloaked in concern for words and their correct meanings while patently ignoring basic spiritual concepts like Divine authority and holiness. 

            Our spiritual meals are presented to help us glorify God, not to exalt ourselves over others.  They are food for the soul, not ammunition for the spiteful.   They are nourishment for the kind, not fodder for the vindictive.  If all we can do is chase one another in circles with the Word of God, we don’t deserve to hold those sacred writings in our hands.

            I laughed at those two stupid doves under my feeder.  Then I just shook my head and sighed.  I have seen too many Christians just like them.

For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh, Galatians 5:14-16.

Dene Ward

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            We have had a cat more often than not in the past twenty years.  All of them were pretty good about doing their work, as most barn cats are—it comes naturally to them to keep the rodents out of the feed sacks.  But because they are outdoor cats, they do not have quite the same affinity for human contact as house cats.  In fact, it seems that the less they have to do with us, the better they do their job.

            So when it comes time to take this sort of cat to the vet for its shots and check-ups, the process is a real adventure.  I remember once, when we put the cat in a box we had carefully aerated, drove 20 miles to the vet, opened the box and there was no cat.  We drove back home and found her sitting on the steps, licking her paws, and looking at us with a look of disdain.  “Where have you been?” she seemed to be saying with a smirk.  We still don’t know how she got out.  Her name was Jezebel.  Maybe that explains it.

            When we got Jasper we invested in a carrier.  The first time I used it, I discovered that this was still not going to be easy.  I sat on the porch and called him.  He inched his way forward and I just held out my hand until he finally relaxed and let me pet him.  After a minute or so, I picked him up and tried to put him in the crate. Immediately, all four sets of claws sprang out and grasped the edges of the opening.  It looked like a cartoon as I tried pushing him in while he hung on to the doorframe for dear life.  No way was this cat going in there willingly.

            Then I got smart, I thought, and put some food in the carrier.  Jasper smelled it immediately, and stuck his head inside.  I waited patiently as more and more of him disappeared into the box, then quickly shut the door; but somehow in that tiny space, he managed to turn around and slip out before I could get the clasp fastened. 

            By then, he was getting suspicious.  He was too leery to even come near me, so I waited a bit.  About a half hour later I grabbed a towel and laid it on the porch floor next to me.  By then, he was feeling generous again and sauntered up to me for a scratch.  After a few minutes, he lay next to me on the towel.  With a quick motion, I flipped the towel over his whole body and dumped him unceremoniously into the upended carrier,  The little bit of time it took for him to get his claws out of the towel gave me enough time to shut the door without him escaping.  Finally we went to the vet.

            Wouldn’t you know it, when we got to the vet, he wouldn’t come out of the carrier?  The vet had to dump him out.  And when she was finished with him and let him go, he scrambled back in as fast as he could.  Little stinker.

            In spite of his unwillingness to go to the vet, it kept him healthy.  The shots still worked, even though he really didn’t want them.  It doesn’t work that way with righteousness.  You can do things that look like righteousness all day long, but if you are doing them from a bad heart, they won’t do a thing for your soul.

            We seem to have a mistaken idea about the Old Law, that all they had to do were “right things,” and that their hearts did not matter.  Yet over and over you find instances where the heart most certainly did matter.  Take from among you an offering unto Jehovah; whosoever is of a willing heart, let him bring it, Ex 35:5.  That is just one example among many.

            Doesn’t it mean more to you that Lord offered himself for us willingly?  No one takes [my life] away from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. John 10:18.  How much would it mean in terms of love if he had done it because he was forced to? 

            That is how God looks at us too.  How much more does it mean to you when your child brings you a wildflower he picked in the field “just because” than when he sends that expensive arrangement on Mother’s Day, a day when the world practically forces it on him?  A buttercup on a Tuesday is far superior to a dozen roses the second Sunday in May.

            God will not force us to obey him, much less love him.  He has never accepted the letter of the law without the heart.

 

And you, Solomon my son, know the God of your father and serve him with a whole heart and with a willing mind, for the LORD searches all hearts and understands every plan and thought.  If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will cast you off forever, 1 Chron 28:9.

Dene Ward
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We had another hawk nest this past spring, this one in the forty foot tall pine tree on the northeast corner.  We nearly missed it since we seldom go to that side of the property, but suddenly one day, we saw activity in a big ball of leaves, twigs, and moss, and, picking up the binoculars, realized that two baby hawks sat in the nest with wide open mouths, waiting for Mama and Daddy to bring dinner.

            We watched them awhile every day, and I spoke to them often enough that they began to recognize my voice and cried when I left.  Within a few weeks their white down was gone and they were almost, but not quite ready to fly.

            One afternoon I was sitting by the window when lightning struck so close I nearly came up out of the chair.  A storm soon followed, and I weathered it with a crossword puzzle and a magnifying glass. 

            After supper Keith and I went on our regular evening stroll around the place, stopping first by the pine to check on the babies, more like teenagers by then.  “Oh no,” he said, and after a few more steps I saw it too—a streak of white all the way down the pine.  It was the nest tree that had been struck.  He put the binoculars to his eyes and said he saw no movement in the nest at all.  Then, as he was making his way around the tree to try to catch it from all angles, he came upon them.  Both babies had been thrown from the nest to the ground.  One was dead, a mangled, broken mass of feathers.  The smaller of the two was standing about eight feet away, soaking wet and pitiful looking.  Mama perched on a branch across the fence watching.  There was no way she could carry a baby this big in her talons back to the nest to feed and tend.

            What to do?  First, we had to get it up off the ground before Magdi and Chloe saw it.  Keith picked up the scared baby, a double handful of feathers with a head as big as my fist.  It didn’t struggle at all, shell-shocked, I suppose, so we talked to it soothingly as we carried it to the back of the truck and put him inside the camper top.  Then, after batting around a few ideas, Keith found an old milk crate, filled it with leaves and moss, and climbed the oak tree nearest the pine that had low enough branches for him to get up into after the ladder steps ran out.  He nailed it as high as he could reach.

            Meanwhile I went looking for bird food, raw meat in this case, and the only thing I had that was not frozen solid was cubed steak I had bought on sale that morning—still, it was expensive bird food.  I put it in the microwave just long enough to get the chill off, but not to cook it.  When I dropped a small chunk in the truck by the bird, all he did was look at it for a few seconds.  Then his eyes turned to me and never left me, so I kept on talking to him to try to keep him calm. 

            Keith managed to get up the ladder with him somehow, as I stood on the bottom rung to keep it steady for his one-handed grip.  He set the big baby in the box and then tried hand-feeding it.  That did it!  The hawk knew it was food after that (and nearly had human finger as dessert), so we put more in the homemade nest.  We heard Mama again, as she flew back around the old pine, calling for her baby, so we left as quickly as possible.

            Now it was time to wait.  Would she find him and accept him and feed him again, or had we sealed his fate by handling him?  There was no way to know.  We had done our best to save him and the rest was up to him and his mother.

            The next morning, we stepped outside early and looked toward the tree.  Mama must have heard us, for she flew then, but we were overjoyed to see that she had flown from the make-shift nest in the oak tree where she had indeed found her baby.  Three days later he flew on his own.

            We wonder sometimes how much that bird understood what had happened to it   Why did it have to be his tree that was struck and his brother or sister who was killed?  Why did he wind up in a plastic box instead of his cozy, parent-built nest?  This is not the way it is supposed to be with hawks!

            And we wonder the same things when our life plans are suddenly altered through circumstances we had never even considered—accident, illness, career changes, death of a spouse at a young age.  This is not the way we had planned it, this is not what we had wanted for our lives. 

            I had a dear friend who lived here for several years.  This is not where she expected to be, but her husband was killed in a work-related accident, and her only child died suddenly and unexpectedly at a young age.  None of this was what she had planned, yet through it all she maintained a level of faith I have yet to reach, and an attitude I want to imitate for the rest of my life. 

            “I don’t understand why God put me here,” she once said.  

            “Charlotte,” I told her, “He put you here for me.”  I can name half a dozen others who feel the same way.  Every day, remembering her example helps me cope with the changes that have come my way in the past five years.

            Don’t ever think that because your plans went awry that you have been forsaken by God.  It could very well be that He put you where He did for a reason you may never truly understand, just like that hawk was undoubtedly mystified by what happened to him.  But you have the ability to accept your circumstances and make the most of them.  God puts you where He wants you for a reason, and giving up hope and ceasing to serve is not the solution.

            Trust God.  Keep serving your neighbors in any way you can, even if it is just to smile and set an example of endurance and peace.  Refuse to make excuses for yourself, as Satan would have you do.  So your plans were changed?  They should not have been that important to you anyway—Christians have far better plans for the future than anything anyone can think up in this life, in this place.  Believe it.

Out of my distress I called upon Jehovah: Jehovah answered me and set me in a large place.  Jehovah is on my side; I will not fear: What can man do unto me? Psalm 118:5,6.

Dene Ward

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            In a couple of places where we have lived, a local farmer has allowed Keith to milk his cow.  The farmer furnished the cow and the feed, while Keith furnished the labor, and we split the milk.  Our cut was usually a gallon a day, which was good with two boys who drank it by the quart.  I also used the cream to make our own butter.  There is nothing quite like a Southern pound cake made with homemade butter, homemade sour cream, and eggs fresh out of the chicken that morning.  Our mashed potatoes were so creamy you might as well have troweled them onto your hips, and the homemade ice cream so rich it had flecks of butter in it.

            When a dairy cow needs milking, it needs milking, period.  Keith was away overnight once, not due back till late afternoon the next day.  All I could think about was that poor cow.  Having nursed babies, I understood her pain.  Surely I could take care of this, I thought, and help both of them.

            This cow was known to be a kicker.  She had only recently gotten used to Keith, finally allowing him to milk her while she ate feed from the trough.  I knew the drill, so I got a bucket of feed and headed for the corral.  I also knew her penchant for kicking, so I put on Keith’s jacket and hat before I left the house.  I thought I would look and smell like him and she would never know the difference.

            As I headed for the stall she saw me coming, and began a slow walk in my direction.  I made my first mistake.  Keith always called her with the same phrase every day, so I did too, lowering my voice as much as possible.  The cow stopped and looked at me across the fence railing.  For a few minutes I thought she had me, but I held up the bucket so the scent of the feed reached her on the breeze, and she started walking again.

            After that I kept my mouth shut.  I simply poured the feed into the trough and waited for her to put her head down.  Then I reached out and started milking.  Instantly her head was up again, and she looked over her shoulder at me.  I stepped back, keeping a careful eye on her hind legs, ready to jump if she looked like she was even thinking about kicking. 

            For a long moment we stood there eying one another.  Finally, she gave a snort and shake of the head.  The jig was up, as they say.  For all the world it looked like she was saying, “I really need this right now, so go ahead.  But don’t think I’m not on to you.”  She put her head back in the trough, and I began milking again.  It was a compromise.  She gave me just enough to get the pressure off her aching udder, but not enough so I would think she had not seen through my disguise.  A quart later, she stepped back from the trough, and I took both the hint and the milk into the house.  When Keith got home, she gladly let him finish the job.

            Isaiah had a lot to say about this same point.  If a cow—a dumb unreasoning animal—can know its master, why can’t we so-called intelligent human beings recognize ours?  If a donkey knows where to get its sustenance, why can’t we figure out who we must depend upon? 

            Have you ever seen a cow path?  Cows learn when it is time to head for the barn, and they take the shortest route every evening at the same time, following one another down the path, until it is beaten from their hooves and so obvious anyone could follow it.  I look around our world every day and marvel at how many smart people don’t seem to have a clue where the path is, and what’s more, brag about it.  Then I look at God’s people and cry for all the ones who claim to be His children, but act the same way.

 

Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth; for Jehovah has spoken: I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.  The ox knows his owner, and the ass his master's crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not consider, Isa 1:2,3.

Dene Ward

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One of the benefits of becoming a birdwatcher is learning their songs.  It’s been eight years now, and every year I learn another call or sometimes unlearn one I thought I knew.  For the longest time I thought I was hearing a cardinal, when it was really a wren, but now I know them instantly. 

            I also know now that the same bird produces more than one call.  A cardinal will peep, one high light note at a time, or he will purty, purty, purty, or what, what, what, what, or even cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer.  It all depends upon whether he is courting a female, defending his territory from other males, warning other birds of interlopers, or just contentedly enjoying his meal.  But whichever call he uses, now I know it.

            Some bird songs are deceptive.  A mourning dove sounds almost like some kind of soft-spoken owl.  A blue jay’s whistle might sound a bit like a cuckoo to someone who is used to listening to cuckoo clocks.  And did you know that the movies often use a hawk’s call when an eagle is pictured because it sounds much more regal for our national bird than the squawk an eagle usually produces.  And so you have to be educated to these sounds to know them, to distinguish one from the other. 

            The same is true of the Bible.  The things I see people falling for astonish me.  How could they possibly believe such craziness?  How?  Because they have never educated themselves in the scriptures.  If you know the general teaching of the Bible, the general layout of the plot (yes, there is one), more than that, if you know the God and the Christ presented in those Scriptures, you won’t fall for the false teachings out there.  You may not know exactly what is wrong, but your mind will instantly say, “Wait a minute.  Something doesn’t sound right.”

            You can only do that by paying attention to everything Jesus says, not just the parts you like.  Too many of us don’t want a Savior who demands that we follow him only, that we give up ourselves, our likes and dislikes, our loyalties and loves, and who makes statements like, “Sin no more,” and “You are of your father the devil.”  We want the loving Jesus who forgives sins and holds the little children in his lap.  To truly accept Jesus is to accept all of his words and ways, not just the parts we like.  “The sheep follow the shepherd,” Jesus says, “because they know his voice” John 10:3.  Even the stern, disciplinary voice.

            Jesus is our Good Shepherd.  We must learn all of his words in order to truly know him and not be deceived.  All who came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen, John 10:8.  I’m afraid too many of us would listen, and become lost sheep in the process.

            Do you know his voice?  If you don’t know the whole of Jesus, you don’t.  If all you have are your favorite sayings and favorite anecdotes, you are in danger of being led astray.  If I can learn a couple dozen bird calls in such a short amount of time, surely you can learn the call of a Savior who wants you to know him in even less. 

So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:31-32

Dene Ward

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

            I saw him first in the early spring, the days still cool and breezy, the sun only barely warming the greening grass.  I am not sure exactly how he reached the feeder next to my window, but later I saw him hopping down one limb at a time to the ground.  His right wing was broken, dragging on whatever surface he stood; he was unable to lift it at all.  Yet by hopping upward one limb at a time, I surmised, he had managed to get to a plentiful food supply and ate as much as he needed.

            All spring he came, usually after the other birds had eaten their fill and left.  I made sure he had plenty and he seemed to appreciate it, eying me from the safety beyond the window where I sat as he pecked the seed.  Finally his wing began to mend.  After a couple of weeks he was able to pull it up a bit.  Gradually he pulled it closer and closer to his body, and suddenly one afternoon he gave it a try and flew to the feeders out in the yard, the ones on straight poles that he couldn’t reach before.  His flight was wobbly, swooping down toward the grass in a dive I thought would crash-land, but then he managed to flap a bit and rise to land on the red plastic perch.

            His wing and his maneuvers have both improved.  I can still tell which one he is, though, because that wing healed crookedly and still bows out from his body as if he has his hand in his pocket, elbow stuck out, but his flying is straight and sure now.  He survived what might have brought death to any other bird probably because of the free and easy meal he could still manage to reach while he healed.

            Isn’t that why God put us here together?  When one of us has a broken wing, the rest of us do what we can to help.  It may be physical—taking meals to the ill or injured or those recovering from surgeries.  But far more often it is a spiritual break, a soul in jeopardy from the pitfalls of life that have left him maimed and unable to care for himself.

And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14

We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Romans 15:1

Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2.

            In this way we follow the example of our Lord:  a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench…Matt 12:20.  Just as he healed so many broken souls, he expects us to do the same.

            Sometimes it is difficult to deal with these broken souls.  It takes time, it takes effort, sometimes it even takes heartache and tears. It means we might miss a planned outing, a meal, or maybe some sleep.  Taking care of those in pain can take up your life—but then, isn’t service supposed to be our life when we give it all to the Lord?  Service by definition is never convenient. 

            Look around for those broken wings.  God expects you to be His agent in taking care of His ailing children.  Feed them, care for them, listen, advise, and if necessary, correct.  Above all, be patient—healing takes time.  If you aren’t willing to do that, then maybe the broken wing is yours.


Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, "Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Isaiah 35:3-4

Dene Ward

            After a couple of years, we finally have sparrows at our bird feeder.  For some reason, it took them the longest to find us.  But which variety?  I never realized there were so many until I tried to look these little guys up in my bird book.  One afternoon, a sparrow perched on the window ledge right beside me and I looked down on his tiny red-brown cap.  Aha!  He was a chipping sparrow.

            You know what else I noticed?  He always has friends with him.  What started out as two or three, by the third or fourth day had become a dozen, and the next Saturday afternoon I counted 21 on my five foot long feeder. 

            On our last camping trip, we threw some biscuit crumbs onto the grass outside the edge of our graveled state park campsite simply because I had heard a dove out there one morning and Keith was hoping to lure him out into the open.  I grabbed the binoculars—even though I sat only fifteen feet from that grassy spot—and saw a sparrow.  No, wait!  Not one but two, no--three, no--half a dozen.  Keith said, “Look at all those sparrows!” and I answered what I had come to know over the months, “You never see just one sparrow.”

            This, of course, made me think.  Cardinals?  Yes there were always more than one, usually a pair, and when they raise a family nearby they bring them to eat too.  They are a bit territorial, though, and will sometimes fly at other birds to knock them away from the food.  No one else is supposed to enjoy this privilege.

            Titmice?  Yes, they come in pairs too.  But when other birds arrive, they often sit off in the azalea bushes scolding them with a tiny, high-pitched screech.  Even when I go out to add more seed, though the others fly away, the titmice will sit and fuss at me.  I keep telling them, “I am giving you a free and easy meal.  Be patient!”  But scolding seems to be their nature.  Nothing anyone else does suits them.

            And the catbird?  He always comes alone.  He pecks the suet and flies away as fast as he can.  He is the biggest bird to visit my feeder, but he acts like he is afraid of them all.  He never interacts with anyone.  He is there and gone, almost before your eyes can focus on him.  I wonder how he gets any nourishment at all.

            But the sparrows? They are not afraid to sit close together and stay long.  None of the bigger birds can scare them off.  In fact, the doves, which run up and down the feeder, literally “running” birds off more than feeding themselves, cannot run off those sparrows.  I saw a dove try to run at a sparrow one day, and the sparrow just sat there, minding his own “eating” business, until the dove at the last minute had to hop over him to avoid the collision.  Meanwhile, there are more and more sparrows coming, and my birdseed bill is growing faster than my grocery budget.

            Can we learn anything from all these birds?  You can probably see these lessons as easily as I can.  Christians are grateful for what they have and enjoy feasting on the word of God.  They enjoy each other too.  They don’t have time to criticize because they are too busy with the business at hand.  And most of all, they want to share. 

            There should never be just one Christian.

So the woman left her waterpot, and went away into the city, and said to the people,  Come, see a man, who told me all things that ever I did: can this be the Christ?  They went out of the city, and were coming to him. And from that city many of the Samaritans believed on him because of the word of the woman who testified, John 4:28-30,39.

Dene Ward

My neighbor takes as little care of his animals as he does his property.  The horses, donkeys and cows all have ribs that show through their skin and sores on their hides, unfortunately, just below the level that the animal control people consider criminal neglect so they will not intervene.  I often think to myself that I would like to see those people have to endure the same things as these animals and then decide if it is abuse or not, particularly after those poor creatures have broken through the fence yet again and we must dodge them as they wander the road looking for something to eat..  We have even thrown some of our garden refuse over the fence at times to try to help them out.

            As I walked up to unlock the gate one morning for an expected visitor, a donkey and a cow stood just across the west fence.  The donkey evidently saw a meal on the hoof, walked up to the cow and started chewing its left ear.  The cow was not pleased with the situation and turned around.  So the donkey started chewing its right ear.  The cow yanked its head away and trotted off, with the donkey trailing behind.  As soon as the cow stopped, the donkey headed straight for her head and grabbed an ear again.  Once again the cow turned around only to have the other ear chomped on.  She took off again.  I watched this for nearly five minutes before the cow finally headed for the fence row and quite purposefully stuck her head in a bush. 

            The donkey tried to get to an ear and found himself struck in the face by the limbs and branches of the wild myrtle and unable to get to the cow’s ears.  I am afraid I could not help myself—I laughed out loud and cheered for the cow.  After a few minutes, the donkey gave up and left, trotting across the field straight for another cow, braying loudly as he went.  I had to go about my own business then, but I assume that cow had success as well since, while I still see the outlines of ribs and spines, I have yet to see any of those animals earless.

            Sometimes some braying donkey of a human comes along and tries to chew on our ears.  I am afraid that too often we let him when we should be turning aside and, if he is persistent, finding a bush to stick our heads into.  As long as there is a market for gossip and slander, there will be people to fill the need, and when we listen we are no better than they because we find pleasure in their sin. 

            Gossip can accomplish a lot, and none of it good.  It can ruin friendships, break up families, divide churches, and permanently stain reputations.  It has been going on since Satan, the “slanderer,” told Eve that God was just a selfish tyrant who did not want to share.  Look where that got all of us.

            Today, when someone comes to you with the latest “dirt,” find a bush and stick your head into it.  Don’t let that person chew on your ears.  Sooner or later he will get the message and move on.  

He who goes about as a tale-bearer reveals secrets; therefore company not with him who opens wide his lips. Prov 20:19.

Dene Ward

            We had a storm a few days ago.  That in itself is not unusual.  Summer afternoons in Florida often include thunderstorms that go as quickly as they come.  But it reminded me of one we had a few years back, when Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, was still alive.  That was not an ordinary storm. 

            You could hear it coming for about an hour, thunder in the distance, black clouds boiling in an increasing breeze that brought the smell of rain and ozone.  Finally the bottom fell out.  You could hardly see the bushes right outside the windows it was raining so hard.  Afterward, checks on the clock and the rain gauge would show that it rained 1.9 inches in 20 minutes.  Before long, we saw the fruit of Keith’s hours and hours of backbreaking labor, hauling dirt with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, creating a berm around the house.  It looked like we were on an island in the middle of a river, its strong current at least four inches deep as the water rushed down the slope, around the house, and toward the run to the east of us.  It would keep running nearly two hours after the rain stopped, and we drained just fine, but meanwhile I found myself humming, “The rains came down and the floods came up…”

            Suddenly lightning struck in the trees just across the fence to the north.  The clap was so loud I screamed, and even Keith, out in the shed without his hearing aids, heard it, and saw a ball of fire at the top of a pine at the same time.  He said Magdi shot out from her favorite place under the porch, eyes wide as saucers, circling here and there in the pouring rain looking for someplace safe.  He called her into the shed, normally a forbidden place, and petted her dripping and quivering sides until she calmed down.  We never saw Chloe until after the storm, but when we did, her tail was plastered down hard between her legs, the end of it curled up under her belly.  It didn’t come back up for two days.

            That reminded me of the Israelites’ reaction to God at Mt Sinai.  They were so terrified of the darkness, thunder, and lightning that they begged Moses that God would no longer speak to them.  I find Moses’ reply interesting:  Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you that you may not sin, Ex 20:20.

            I think that might just be our problem.  We aren’t afraid enough any more. 

            I can remember when a certain phrase was not only forbidden in polite society, it was certainly never said on television or radio.  It was considered “taking the Lord’s name in vain.”  Now I hear it all the time, even from children.  When ten-year-olds have an abbreviation for it in their text messages, “omg,” something has been lost in our reverence for God.

            The Word of God is called a book of myths, even by people who claim to live by it, even by some who claim to be its ministers.  Religions people are pictured in fiction and drama as bigots, fanatics, hypocrites or maniacs. God, Jesus, Satan, and the struggle against sin are used as comic foils by entertainers.  When I start thinking about how far we have gone down this road, it’s a wonder to me that lightning isn’t popping around us constantly.

            We, the people of God, have even taken the concept of “the fear of God” and watered it down to the point that it means nothing more than the respect we might show our own fathers.  Isaiah, when he had seen merely a vision of God said, Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts, 6:5.  Isaiah was feeling a whole lot more than simple respect.  If there was ever a time when he could overcome sin more easily, it was probably in the weeks and months after that vision. 

            I have a feeling that if we ever stood in the presence of God we would finally understand what the fear of God is all about.  Some day we will.  I just hope it is not too late.

Any one who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.  How much worse punishment, do you think, will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace?  For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine.  I will repay,” and again, “The Lord will judge his people.”  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Heb 10:28-31.

Dene Ward

Sitting next to a window by a bird feeder can give you a feeling of omniscience.

            The first time I added stale biscuits to the birdseed, Magdi smelled them and wormed her way through the azaleas.  I noticed because of the scuffling against the side of the house.  I watched as she stood on her hind legs, trying to reach the biscuits.  She never knew I was there until I growled, “Nnnnnnnnno!” with a prolonged and ever increasing “n” sound.  The poor thing tucked her tail and ran so fast the azaleas shook for a full five minutes.

            Then there is the squirrel.  He has always approached from the east side of the feeder, and unless I am right there can sneak up and eat as much as a foot long line of seed before I catch him.  A thump on the wall sends him scampering away.  The first time I caught him he tried again a few minutes later, so I hit the window right next to him.  I think his leap missed the azaleas entirely as he fled the scene. 

            One morning he thought he had this Unseen Force fooled.  After I thumped the wall, he retreated down the leg of the feeder only a few inches.  How did I know?  Because his tail stood straight up next to it, a good six inches above the edge.  I let him think he had the advantage for a minute or so, and when he had barely crept onto the board again, gave the wall an extra hard thump.  No more squirrel for a week after that.

            The other morning, he came up with a new tack.  I was sitting in my chair when suddenly I saw two little paws appear over the outside edge of the feeder, but on the west end.  A moment later a furry head came up over the edge in a squirrelly pull-up.  This time I had some help.  The cardinals in the azaleas all swooped down on him at the exact moment I chose to tap the window in front of him.  He fell back into the azaleas with all fours spread, his eyes wide, and what I am sure was an amazing squirrel scream, frantically twisted and turned in mid-air like a cartoon character spinning his wheels, and finally hit the ground running. 

            Was that the end of this interloper?  No, he keeps trying.  Like a baby who covers his face with his blanket and thinks he is hidden, the squirrel still has hope that one day he will be able to dine to his heart’s content and no one will see.

            He is just like us.  No matter how many times we talk about the “omniscience” and “omnipresence” of God, we still think we can hide from him.  Why else do we keep doing what we do?  We are no better than Adam and Eve hiding after their disobedience, though every Bible class I have been in scoffs openly at them when the subject arises.

            We quote the Lord is at hand, Phil 4:5, and then behave as if we don’t really believe it.  Do we not realize what that means?  The Lord is within arm’s length, always—that’s what it means.  He is standing next to us at the kitchen counter, sitting across the office desk from us, standing in the line at the grocery store with us, or sitting in the front seat of the car beside us.  He sees what we do, hears what we say, knows what we feel and think.  If we really believed it, wouldn’t it make a difference?  We are sometimes no better than a dumb animal that thinks it can eventually find a way to hide if it just keeps trying, and just like a small child playing peek-a-boo, whose limited perspective keeps him from realizing what others can see. 

            Remember today who is at your side.  It isn’t a threat; it’s an asset, a blessing that will help us be who and what we really want to be.

The eyes of Jehovah are in every place, keeping watch upon the evil and the good, Prov 15:3.


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Dene Ward