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            As winter turned to spring this year, we noticed all the usual signs.  The azaleas spilled white, red, and all shades of pink and purple blooms under every live oak in sight.  The dogwoods made white spotlights in the forests when a sunbeam broke through the gloom.  The robins made brief rest stops on their return migration north, and hummingbirds buzzed our feeder, empty since last October, letting us know they were back and ready to be fed.  Oak pollen sifted down in a yellow powder all over the car.  The temperature and humidity rose as did the gnats, flies, and mosquitoes out of the swamps and bogs.  And Chloe started shedding.

            Magdi always shed individual hairs as she rolls in the grass, as she scratches, as we pet or brush her.  But Chloe sheds in clumps.  Whenever she rose, she left behind wads of red fur on the grass or carport, reminding me of the floor of a beauty salon after a haircut.  Every time we scratched her head, the clumps stuck to our hands and clothes, or floated off with the breeze as if we had blown red dandelion puffs.  Before long she looked like an old sofa with large threadbare patches.  Eventually all her winter coat fell off—everything except a two inch fringe running down her hind legs.  Now she looks like a canine cowgirl wearing chaps.

            But you know what?  She is still Chloe, our one-year-old Australian cattle dog.  She still loves to eat.  She still nips at Magdi’s heels.  She still chases butterflies and grasshoppers, and plays tug-o-war with ropes and rags.  She still has a sweet little face that melts my heart.

            When we become Christians, Paul tells us we should lay aside the old self, Eph 4:22, crucify ourselves, Gal 2:20, and become new creatures, 2 Cor 5:17.  Too many times we do what Chloe did, shed the outer self only.  The inside stays the same.  We still consider ourselves before others, we still give in to every temptation, we still excuse our poor behavior instead of grabbing hold of the power of Christ to really change who we are.  We are still exactly the same person; we just have a new haircut.

            Changing is hard—it does not happen overnight.  But how many of us can examine ourselves honestly today and see a change from that day we claimed to make a commitment?  How long has it been?  Even one year should show a significant change for the better, and how many of us have twenty, thirty, forty years or more under our belts and still make the same mistakes on a regular basis?

            Don’t just sweep some hair off the floor today.  If you haven’t already, start making a real change in yourself.

I beseech you therefore brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  And be not fashioned according to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, Rom 12:1,2.

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            The past few mornings I have heard a dove off in the trees just north of the house.  His call is a distinctive one, and obviously the reason for his name.  He sounds so sad, like he is in mourning for someone he lost.  I don’t believe I have ever heard any other type of call from this particular bird or any other birdcall so sad.

            Then this morning he landed on my feeder.  I have seen doves from a distance.  They like to stay close to the ground, and when they fly they have a distinctive sound in their “take-off.”  I know they are doves even though I cannot see them well. 

            When this one came to eat at our free breakfast bar, I was amused.  He has the fattest breast of any bird I have seen yet, which I suppose explains why there is a dove season, and not a cardinal or blue jay or, certainly not, a titmouse season.  But his head is tiny and round.  He waddled down the feeder, taking his time to eat, then look around, then eat some more.  Rather than mournful, this bird looks pretty happy, I thought, almost like a little feathered clown.

            Isn’t that the dichotomy of a Christian?  We mourn for the state of the world, for the state of the people we care about in this world who have not found their way yet, or worse perhaps, those who had found it but lost it again.  We mourn that our Savior had to suffer because of that, and we mourn yet more because of the part we played in that suffering.  Yet for the same reason, we rejoice.  Because of that suffering, we are free, we are saved, we have hope for what would otherwise be unattainable.

            And because of that, when the griefs of life come our way, we still have joy, even while the tears run down our faces.  Tomorrow our smiles will return.  They are permanently etched there while the tears are only temporary; not just joy amid sorrows, but joy overcoming sorrows.  Enough so that when others look our way, they will be surprised at how unaffected we are by the sadness around us, just like I was surprised by the jaunty little mourning dove. 

Being therefore justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom also we have had our access by faith unto this grace wherein we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we also rejoice in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation works steadfastness, and steadfastness approvedness, and approvedness hope; and hope puts not to shame because the love of God has been shed abroad in our hearts through the Holy Spirit which was given unto us, Rom 5:1-5.

Dene Ward

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            In the winter sparrows invade my yard, swarming the feeders like ants.  It is nothing unusual for 15 or so to cover the trough by the window, while half a dozen more sit in the azaleas waiting for an opening.  Meanwhile, thirty to forty hop along the ground, flitting back and forth to the smaller hanging feeders, which sway from the impetus of their continual take-offs.  After several frosts the brown and black grass successfully camouflages their drab brown and gray feathers.  I can only tell they are there because frosted off grass doesn’t ordinarily move, but that grass literally writhes.

            Brown and gray—drab colors compared to the brilliant red cardinals, the bright yellow goldfinches, the contrasting red and yellow bars on the blackbird’s wing.  Even the brown of the Carolina wren is comparatively bright, and the stark contrasts of the zebra-striped black and white warbler perched pecking at the suet cage draws your eye far sooner than the mousy little sparrow.

            But someday you should sit at my window when one of them lands on the trough not six inches from your nose.  Up close the intricate patterns on their wings suddenly turn those drab colors into a source of wonder and delight.  Like delicate lace, the brown and gray sections, outlined by white and spotted with black, will keep your attention for a half hour or more as you struggle to discern the pattern God has placed in their tiny feathers.  No artist could have created anything so exquisite, especially using those colors.

            And what about you?  God can take your drab colors and create a creature far beyond your imagination.  He can take a miserable life and give it purpose, a sorrowful spirit and make it joyous, a selfish heart and tenderize it with compassion.  He can take a soul overwhelmed by the darkness of sin and make it bright with the reflection of its Savior.

            There is nothing drab about the life of a Christian.  God can make even the most ordinary person extraordinary.  We have no need for garish colors, for manmade ornament, or the laurels of worldly praise.  We know who we are—new creatures, “created in Christ Jesus for good works,” each of us beautiful in His glory.  If all you see are drab colors, you just haven’t gotten close enough.

…Put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and…be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and…put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness, Eph 4:22-24.

Dene Ward

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            When Lucas first gave me the birdsong book, I knew there was one bird I wanted to look up immediately.  For two years I had been hearing an owl every morning as I walked the trail around the property.  I think I noticed because I was so surprised to discover that they hooted in the daytime too.  But unlike the other large birds of prey I had seen, an eagle, an osprey, and the hawk, which still on occasion sits on a tree limb across the fence to talk with me, I had never seen this owl.  I had him pictured though—a nearly two foot mottled brown bird with two ear tufts and large yellow eyes that see in the dark.

            I found him in the book, a great horned owl, and quickly punched in his number.  Imagine my surprise when his call was not quite right.  So I checked all the other owls, a screech owl, snowy owl, barn owl, and finally one I had never heard of—a barred owl, slightly smaller, a bit more white streaked in his brown feathers with definite bars across his throat, and a large round head sporting no ear tufts at all.  But his sound was unmistakable.  This is what I had been listening to for two years, out in the woods beyond the creek.  I’ve still never seen him, but I know he’s there, and now I can picture him correctly.

            I think as children we develop a mental picture of God from things we have been taught.  Sometimes our pictures are mistaken, or at best, simplistic—God is, after all, not easy to explain to a child.  As we grow up and learn to study on our own, as we deal with the circumstances of life and meditate on the two together, our picture of God should become clearer, developing into a rich depth of comprehension. 

            When we rely only on what we have been told and the shallowness of our youthful perceptions fails to mature, our faith may falter in times of trial.  Suddenly we can no longer see a God who cares, a God who is powerful and whose plan goes far beyond this short, and to us, too important life.  Regardless of the evidence, we fail to see Him there in times of trouble, and what should be visible to us more than others becomes invisible.  If we are not careful we will become blind, totally unable to see Him ever again.  “I can’t believe in a God who would…” is a sign of stunted spiritual growth, not increased intellect.

            Open your eyes.  Examine your life through an overview of faith, not a miniscule sliver of circumstance.  Look at the big picture--the evidence is there.  I cannot see my owl, but I hear him hooting in the woods and believe.  As sure as he is out there, God is too, working in your life through providence, speaking to you in His word, perhaps at a depth you have never been to before.  Take the plunge and open your eyes. 

Now the king of Syria was warring against Israel, and he took counsel with his servants saying in such and such a place shall you camp.  And the man of God sent and told the king of Israel…and the king of Israel was saved not once but twice.  And the heart of the king of Syria was troubled…and one of his servants said, Oh king, Elisha the prophet is telling the king of Israel the words that you speak, even in your bedchamber.  And he said, Go and see where he is...and it was told him that he was in Dothan.  Therefore he sent horses and chariots and a great host, and they came by night and surrounded the city...And Elisha’s servant said, Alas my lord, what shall we do?  And he answered, Fear not, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.  And Elisha prayed and said, Jehovah, I pray you, open his eyes that he may see.  And Jehovah opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha, I Kings 6:8-17.

Dene Ward

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            A male cardinal showed up one spring morning and tried out the bird feeder.  He had not eaten long before he left and came back with his mate.  He started eating while she sat on the side simply watching, but then he picked up another seed and hopped over to her, gently placing it in her mouth.  She ate and afterward continued to eat, the two of them side by side, enjoying a free and easy meal that she now knew was safe.

            A few weeks later I noticed that her figure was spreading.  Her round breast was more than round.  Too much bird seed, I wondered?  But no, all of a sudden one morning she was thinner again, and she and her mate came separately instead of together.  In fact, she came much less often, and he did a whole lot of back and forth commuting.

            Then they showed up with four other cardinals, young ones nearly full-grown, but thinner and with a scruffy plumage, even more muted than Mom’s.  One female would only sit on the edge of the feeder and quiver her wings so fast they seemed but a blur, leaning forward with her mouth open.  Daddy often fed her, one seed at a time, until she was full and flew away. After a week of that, Mom had had enough.  How was this one ever going to learn to feed herself?  So she often flew at the young one, nearly knocking her off the feeder.  Daddy got the message and stopped the “spoon feeding.”  Sometimes Daddy’s little girl tries it again, but Daddy makes her get her own now.  What will she do when he is gone if she never has taken care of herself before?

            In the evenings the whole family comes to the feeder together.  The young ones fly at one another playfully before settling down to eat.  Mom and Dad used to eat last, but more often now they jump right in with the “little ones,” some of whom are bigger than their parents.  The plumage on the males is starting to redden, and, what is more important, they come to eat even when their parents don’t.  They have learned to shell the seeds, and the flying debris often pings against the windows and out into the azaleas.  They have also learned to fend for themselves against the other birds, and when the big bad squirrel comes, they will either gang up on him, or if one is alone, that bird knows it is much better to simply run. 

            The cardinals have done well.  Did you know that those birds are monogamous for life?  And they have taught their children well.  They know how to take care of themselves.  They know when to fight and when to run.  They know where to come when they need nourishment, because mama and daddy brought them from the time they were able to fly there behind them.  If something ever happens to those parents, I know the young ones will still be visiting me every day.  And soon, they will bring their own. 

            By the way, this lesson is not for the birds. 

Give ear, O my people, to my law: incline your ears to the words of my mouth.  I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings of old, which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children, telling to the generation to come the praises of Jehovah, and his strength, and his wondrous works that he has done. For he established a testimony in Jacob, and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers, that they should make them known to their children; that the generation to come might know them, even the children that should be born; who should arise and tell them to their children, Psalm 78:1-6.

Dene Ward

            I was born and raised a city girl.  We never had a mouse in our house.  Cartoons like “Tom and Jerry” and “Pixie and Dixie” seemed like fairy tales to me.  Then we moved to a farming community in Illinois.  Our house sat on the last street on the edge of the small town, right next to a cornfield.  One morning in September I got up to find that our dog had had a playmate all night long—one who was much the worse for wear, and who, unfortunately, had brought several friends in with him. 

            One of the farm wives in the church told us to stuff steel wool beside every pipe coming up through the floor--the kitchen sink, bathroom lavatory, hot water heater, washer, etc.  Pipes are the main highway for mice entering a home, and steel wool is the only flexible thing they cannot chew through.  I bought the small town out of steel wool and frantically stuffed it all down those offending holes.  Our mouse problem suddenly improved.  Once in awhile in the years that followed we had an interloper, but he was usually a lone pioneer in what we tried to make a hostile frontier.

            How much sense would it have made, though, for me to say, “Steel wool won’t take care of them all, so why bother?”  About as much sense as it would to say, “A criminal can always find a way into your home if he wants to, so why bother locking the door?”  There are some occasions where the word “stupid” legitimately applies.

            So why do I hear my brethren constantly harping on the inevitability of sin?  “We will all sin sooner or later no matter how hard we try.”  When I ask why, I hear, Let him who stands take he lest he fall, (1 Cor 10:12).  Translation:  the minute you start thinking you can overcome, you have become proud and before you know it, you will be down the tubes!  Surely there is a difference in recognizing, “With the help of my Savior, I can overcome,” and spouting, “I’m such a strong Christian I’d never do anything like that!”  Whatever happened to I can do all things through him who strengthens me?  Sometimes it sounds like we think that Divine help is at best, anemic, and at worst, impotent.  Or is it just that we don’t believe what we say?

.           Why can’t I use the fact that I overcame one temptation as an encouragement to overcome some more?  Are we denying that God expects us to grow and get stronger every day?  None of us would allow our children to play for a team whose coach told them they could never win, that even if they managed a win, they would lose sooner or later.  Yet we are so afraid of sounding like we believe in that Calvinistic notion of “once saved always saved,” that we openly discourage one another and wear it as a mark of soundness. 

            Paul was ever mindful of his status as a sinner, “the chiefest” in fact.  But he was not afraid to tell the Corinthians about his successes.  “I set an example for you by foregoing my rights for the sake of my brother’s soul.  Now do what I did,” (the context of 1 Corinthians chapters 8-10, concluding with 11:1).  He did not mean it as a boast, but someone surely could have taken it that way.  And when his life was over he said, I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.  Henceforth there is a crown of righteousness waiting for me, 2 Tim 4:7,8.  Was he bragging?  Of course not.  It was a declaration of hope for a job well done.  Let’s not stand on the sidelines just waiting to jump on a brother and accuse him of a lack of humility when he sees his own progress and is encouraged by it, daring to say, “With the Lord’s help, I can win.”

            Instead, let’s stand with the apostles and their view of things. 

            For the death that he died he died unto sin once, but the life that he lives, he lives unto God.  Even so, reckon also yourselves to be dead unto sin, but alive unto God in Christ Jesus.  Let not sin reign in your mortal bodies that you should obey the lusts thereof, neither present your members as instruments of unrighteousness, but present yourselves unto God as alive from the dead and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God, Rom 6:11-13.

            There has no temptation taken you but such as man can bear, but God is faithful, who will not let you be tempted above what you are able, but will with the temptation make also the way of escape that you may be able to endure it, 1 Cor 10:13.

            Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace, and taking up the shield of faith with which you shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the evil one, Eph 6:14-16. 

            The Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptation, 2 Pet 2:9.

            My little children, these things I write unto you that you may not sin, and if we sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, 1 John 2:1.

            Get out the steel wool.  Plug the holes where you can.  Don’t let the fact that a sin here and there may find its way into your life cause you to roll out the red carpet for every temptation that comes along.  Take advantage of the encouragement God meant you to have and don’t give up the battle before you even start fighting.

Dene Ward

           I apologize for that, but I just don’t know what else to call it.  Chloe has a cold.  I never knew a dog could get a cold.  It has been typical of a human cold.  She felt miserable for two or three days, and then she started coming out of it, once again running to greet us when we step outdoors, and racing the couple hundred yards to the gate to meet us when we come home.  And, just like a human cold, the runny nose lingers on.  She never coughed or that would have lingered too, just as Keith’s has for over three months now.

            But this nose thing is almost intolerable.  Let me put it like this:  when a dog blows its nose, you had better stand way back.

            She comes out every morning trying to clean out her pipes, clearing her throat and spitting, blowing her nose and sneezing--just like her master, except he knows to use a handkerchief.  Chloe on the other hand looks just plain disgusting.

            I am sure you remember how it was when your toddler had a cold and you couldn’t follow him around all day wiping his nose.  You really did have diapers to wash, and meals to fix, and floors to mop, and on and on, a never ending list.   Suddenly he would come running to share with you a tot-sized marvel, and you would look up and, even if you didn’t say it, you would think, “Gross!” and grab a Kleenex to wipe up what was, um, hanging.  Well, with a dog, multiply that several times--and add a few inches.

            And just like a child, Chloe most certainly does not appreciate it when you wipe her nose.  She has learned to recognize the restroom variety brown paper towels that hang on the carport, and runs when she sees one in Keith’s hand.  As much as I hate to do it to her, when she flees to me for help, I grab her collar and hold her still so he can indeed, clean up that repulsive little schnozzle.  I found out the hard way what happens if you don’t.  Not only will she sneeze on you, but she will then wipe that nose all by herself--on your hem, or your shirtsleeve, or your jeans, or whatever else she can reach, mixed in with whatever dust or dirt she has lain in.  It is repulsive and the only way it comes off is in the washing machine.

            Are you thoroughly grossed out now?  What do you think when you see a friend with a bad case of sin?  Do you act like it isn’t there?  Are you afraid of losing him to correction?  Do you sympathize with him if anyone does care enough to try to help, joining in your friend’s criticism of their methods, their words, even their motivation—as if you could read minds?  Do you just go along like nothing has happened, like it won’t make any difference to them or you or anyone else?

            Sin is disgusting, especially in someone who claims to live a life of purity.  It will keep him from eternal life just as surely as a nose full of snot will keep a child from breathing well.  It will drip all over him in one disgusting glob and affect the lives of others who see him.  And if you stay too close, it will get on you too.  How can it not?

            Think about that special friend right now.  Everyone has one—someone you love who has lost his way.  Are you going to allow your friend to continue in this revolting situation, or do you love him enough to grab a paper towel and wipe his nose?

But you, beloved, building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt; save others by snatching them out of the fire; to others show mercy with fear, hating even the garment stained by the flesh, Jude 1:20-23.

Dene Ward

I have a feeling that some of Bella and Chloe’s playtime might have been a little unsettling to Bella’s youngest master.  Young wild animal learn survival skills through play—how to hunt and how to fight.  Even domesticated animals learn some of these things.  Puppies always engage in rough and tumble play, including baby nips and growls.  Chloe and Bella did the same, and being larger and older, it looked much fiercer.

Teeth bared, growls ferocious, their muzzles tilted back and forth as if trying to find the best place to lock onto one another.  Larger Bella ran at Chloe and broadsided her, sending her rolling, then pounced on top.  In seconds, more experienced Chloe had her legs wrapped around Bella and flipped her over, like a wrestler reversing a pin.  Sometimes they ran headlong into one another like charging bulls and as they met, the saliva flew in all directions.  I learned to stand way back.

How did I know this wasn’t real, that it was simply an older dog teaching a younger through play?  Because they never drew blood.  If you watched their mouths, neither ever closed tightly on the other dog’s body anywhere.  And when they finished, they stood panting for a few moments, energy spent, both tongues dangling toward the ground, looking at one another.  Often they would touch noses, then walk shoulder to shoulder back to the shade, Chloe under the truck and Bella under a tree—lesson for the day over.

I remember a time when brethren could discuss things, even differing views on a passage, and each come away having learned something.  They could trust one another, not only to have each other’s best interest at heart, but also to listen and consider fairly, and never to become angry.  Even if voices rose, no blood was drawn, spiritually speaking, respect continued, and both left with more knowledge and insight.

What has happened to us?  If someone disagrees with me, it makes me mad or it hurts my feelings, and either way I don’t like him any more.  It is no longer about learning and growing—it about winning arguments and putting people down.  Instead of being able to trust a person because he is a brother, one must try to find a brother he can trust, and it isn’t easy.  That’s not just a shame, it’s a tragedy.  If a man say, I love God, and hates his brother, he is a liar: for he that loves not his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment have we from him, that he who loves God love his brother also. 1 John 4:20-21

God meant us to learn and grow together, honing our skills and building one another up.  It might make us occasional sparring partners, but in that sparring we learn how to handle the word more accurately, we learn how to defeat the gainsayers who deny the Lord, and the false teachers who might be after our souls.  And after that sparring match, we “touch gloves” and leave with our love and respect intact.

At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Dene Ward

We had a second stint of puppysitting recently and this time Chloe adapted more quickly.  By the end of the first day, she and now six month old Bella were romping together in the field.  Chloe was still the boss and called the shots—including the play schedule—but play they did, especially in the evenings when Chloe would crawl out from under the porch, stretch, look over her shoulder at Bella and scamper off with a toss of the head—an open invitation to “catch me if you can.”       

Bella also came with us when I gave Chloe her morning walk around the
property.  Chloe usually accompanies me in a steady trot, stopping here and there to sniff at an armadillo hole or a depression at the bottom of the fence where a possum makes its nightly excursions.  Bella preferred to run everywhere, usually in the meandering lines of Billy, the little boy in the Family Circus comic.  Then when she suddenly looked up and found herself behind, she would come running, bulling her way past us in a brown blur.

It was one of those times that particular morning and I heard her overtaking us like a buffalo stampede.  The path at that point was narrow, just room for me, my two walking sticks, and Chloe.  As Bella drew near, I just happened to be looking down when she very neatly leapfrogged over Chloe without disturbing a fur on her head.  In a few seconds she was around the bend and out of sight.

I wonder how many we leapfrog over every day and leave in the dust behind
us because we’re too impatient to wait, too unconcerned to care, too impulsive
to even notice?  Sometimes the young with their new ideas, scriptural though they may be, have too little respect for the old warriors who need time to consider and be sure. Sometimes the more knowledgeable become too arrogant to slow their pace for the babes or those whose capacity may not be as deep.  Sometimes the strong forget that God expects them to help the weak, the ill, the faltering. All these people are just obstacles in our way, things to get past in our rush.

When you leapfrog over a brother and leave him behind, how do you know he
will make it?  God didn’t expect us to walk the path alone.  He meant
for us to walk it together.  When you lack to the love to walk it with your brother, you may as well not walk it at all.

Now we that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves.  Let each one of us please his neighbor for that which is good, unto edifying. For Christ also pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell upon me. Romans 15:1-3.

Dene Ward

We were standing on the carport one evening when I saw movement out of
the corner of my eye.  I turned just in time to push Keith out of the path of a garter snake determinedly chugging his way up the slope to the concrete slab. 
We called the dogs off and allowed him to meander under the mower and off
the edge of the pad to the cool darkness under the porch.  A few days later he made another appearance and we discovered his home when he wriggled away—the hollow pipes supporting the metal roofing of the carport.

I have come a long way in 35 years--from a city girl who screamed and ran from a foot long, pencil-thin, bright green garden snake to a country woman who understands the value of a snake on the property—God’s original mousetrap.  I will never be a snake lover.  I went out one afternoon and found him stretched out at the foot of my lounge chair. I got the broom and shooed him back into his pipe.  My dogs can sit at my feet and have their heads scratched, but with Mr. Snake it is only a matter of “live and let live.”

Too many times we take that attitude with Satan. Yes, he is out there every day. Sometimes we even bump elbows in passing, but we don’t have to stop and politely say, “Excuse me.”  Don’t give him a cool spot on the carport and an idle belly rub with your bare toes.

If this garter snake were one of the four poisonous varieties we have in
this area—all of which we have seen on our land—he would not be tolerated.  Although my guys may tell funny stories about me and snakes, they cannot deny that I know how to make like Annie Oakley when a bad one comes along.  I have killed them with a shotgun, a .22 rifle, and a .22 pistol.  I have killed them with rat shot and buckshot.  When necessary I have used a shovel.  I have lost count of how many poisonous snakes I have killed.  They get fewer every year.

How are we doing with Satan?  Does he think his presence is tolerated, even welcome?  Or does he know that it’s dangerous to be around us?  He is fighting a losing battle and he knows it, but that won’t keep his poison from killing us if we allow him to get too close.

Do not give opportunity to the Devil, Eph 4:27.

Dene Ward