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


 

My floor is finished. I am thrilled to have my house back to myself after three weeks of sharing it with the installer.  He was a nice guy.  My dogs loved him.  He brought them stale doughnuts every morning.
             
The morning after he finished I stepped outside to an empty carport and
the sound of silence where there should have been the click of claws and pad of paws on concrete, rushing to greet me.  I started up the drive and there they were—sitting next to the gate, gazing down the road, obviously pining for the man and his doughnuts.  
          
I called them back.  Chloe came more or less eagerly, but Magdi stopped every ten feet or so and looked over her shoulder toward the gate.  I had to call and clap my hands every so often to keep her coming my way.  
 
This has happened for several mornings now.  I may pet her, and do it often, but I don’t give her doughnuts.  She has sold her soul to a new master just for a doughnut!

What do we sell ours for?  We may even think we have not.  Magdi still lives on our property.  She still comes when we call.  She still allows us to medicate and feed her the healthy stuff, but all the time she is looking over her shoulder toward the gate, yearning for a doughnut.

Are we still showing up at the right places, saying the right things, even acting the right way most of the time, but secretly looking over our shoulders, longing for something else?  We needn’t even bother trying.  No man having put his hand to the plow and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God; remember Lot’s wife, Luke 9:62; 17:32.

I cannot explain to the dogs that if they lived on a steady diet of doughnuts they would actually die of malnutrition, not to mention the woes that come with obesity.  They just know that a nice man gave them something that tasted
good.

We should be smarter than a couple of dogs.  We should have the sense to know that the things we sell our souls for are not worth the end result—not wealth, not power, not social acceptance, not a physical high that only lasts a moment, not the satisfaction that comes with vengeance or simply putting someone in his place.  
 
Whatever it is we are selling ourselves for, however smart it may appear
to the world, however good it may feel, it might as well be doughnuts.  

Then Jesus said to his disciples, If any will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.  For whoever will save his life shall lose it, and whoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.  For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?  Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
Matt 16:24-26.

Dene Ward

Until we got Chloe, we had always practiced what pet owners know as “self-feeding.”  You fill up the feed pan and a few days later, when you notice that it is finally empty, you fill it up again.  Magdi always just ate what she needed to eat and no more, like most animals do.  In spite of the fact that she was an athlete who worked off an incredible number of calories every day, she was never tempted to overeat.

Then came Chloe.  We kept up with the “self-feeding” once she started eating adult food because we wanted to make sure she got enough.  Magdi had a tendency to claim the feed pan as hers and guard it whether she was eating or not.  But we should have realized when we stood over Chloe and looked down that she was getting plenty to eat.  Instead of a straight line from her shoulders to her hind quarters, there was a significant bulge on each side.  When we took her to the vet, the doctor strongly recommended a low calorie diet.  Self-feeding does not work with Miss Piggy dining in the doghouse.

In just a couple of weeks of measured daily feeding she slimmed down. She was much more active, running with Magdi across the fields as they played, and tearing up the ground to greet Keith at the gate when he came home.  She even leapt into the air chasing a bee a few weeks afterward and managed to get all four feet off the ground a foot or more.  We no longer have a piglet with a cold wet black nose and a wagging tail.

God practices a sort of spiritual self-feeding.  His word is available to us any time we want it.  He has given us elders, wise leaders who see to our more formal spiritual meals, and who take that responsibility seriously.  But we can reach into the “pantry” any time we want and snack to our hearts’ content.  In fact, the shame is that instead of looking pleasantly plump in a spiritual sense, too many of us look like we have been on a fast.  When I have labored over a meal for several hours and hardly anyone comes to the dinner table, and those few just pick at their meals, I get a little miffed.  Don’t you suppose God does, too?

Now, more than any other time in history, and here, more than any other place in the world, we can study the Bible any time we want to.  Where is our appreciation of the providence of God?  Where is our hunger for the meat of the word?  Have we filled ourselves up with the empty calories of pop culture and the simple carbs of modern philosophy to the point that we have no room for real food? 

Take a moment today to examine what you are taking into your spirit, what you are filling your soul with, and determine to make a change in your spiritual diet.  Jesus called himself the Bread of Life.  Aren’t we interested in that life at all?

Our fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, as it is written, He gave them bread out of Heaven to eat.  Jesus therefore said unto them, Amen and amen, I say unto you, It was not Moses who gave you bread out of Heaven, but my Father gives you the true bread out of Heaven.  For the bread of God is that which comes down out of Heaven, and gives life to the world.  They said therefore to him, Lord, evermore give us this bread.  Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of Life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes on me shall never thirst, John 6:31-35.

Dene Ward

            Until we got Chloe, we had always practiced what pet owners know as “self-feeding.”  You fill up the feed pan and a few days later, when you notice that it is finally empty, you fill it up again.  Magdi always just ate what she needed to eat and no more, like most animals do.  In spite of the fact that she was an athlete who worked off an incredible number of calories every day, she was never tempted to overeat.

            Then came Chloe.  We kept up with the “self-feeding” once she started eating adult food because we wanted to make sure she got enough.  Magdi had a tendency to claim the feed pan as hers and guard it whether she was eating or not.  But we should have realized when we stood over Chloe and looked down that she was getting plenty to eat.  Instead of a straight line from her shoulders to her hind quarters, there was a significant bulge on each side.  When we took her to the vet, the doctor strongly recommended a low calorie diet.  Self-feeding does not work with Miss Piggy dining in the doghouse.

            In just a couple of weeks of measured daily feeding she slimmed down. She was much more active, running with Magdi across the fields as they played, and tearing up the ground to greet Keith at the gate when he came home.  She even leapt into the air chasing a bee a few weeks afterward and managed to get all four feet off the ground a foot or more.  We no longer have a piglet with a cold wet black nose and a wagging tail.

            God practices a sort of spiritual self-feeding.  His word is available to us any time we want it.  He has given us elders, wise leaders who see to our more formal spiritual meals, and who take that responsibility seriously.  But we can reach into the “pantry” any time we want and snack to our hearts’ content.  In fact, the shame is that instead of looking pleasantly plump in a spiritual sense, too many of us look like we have been on a fast.  When I have labored over a meal for several hours and hardly anyone comes to the dinner table, and those few just pick at their meals, I get a little miffed.  Don’t you suppose God does, too?

            Now, more than any other time in history, and here, more than any other place in the world, we can study the Bible any time we want to.  Where is our appreciation of the providence of God?  Where is our hunger for the meat of the word?  Have we filled ourselves up with the empty calories of pop culture and the simple carbs of modern philosophy to the point that we have no room for real food? 

            Take a moment today to examine what you are taking into your spirit, what you are filling your soul with, and determine to make a change in your spiritual diet.  Jesus called himself the Bread of Life.  Aren’t we interested in that life at all?

Our fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, as it is written, He gave them bread out of Heaven to eat.  Jesus therefore said unto them, Amen and amen, I say unto you, It was not Moses who gave you bread out of Heaven, but my Father gives you the true bread out of Heaven.  For the bread of God is that which comes down out of Heaven, and gives life to the world.  They said therefore to him, Lord, evermore give us this bread.  Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of Life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes on me shall never thirst, John 6:31-35.

Dene Ward

Every time I go outside Chloe comes running, tail wagging, waiting for me to scratch her head.  If my hands are full, she butts the back of my leg with her nose until I manage to free my arms, bend over and scratch her head. If I am taking a load somewhere, she follows along, and I feel that little round nudge constantly all the way until FINALLY  (I am sure she is thinking) she gets
that longed for scratch on the head.  
 
This morning I suddenly wondered if I do that with God.  Am I so anxious for His attention that every morning I can hardly wait to talk with Him? Or do I just leave Him in the back of my mind until I can find a spare minute, and if He is lucky,  I might actually have a whole minute?

Yes, Chloe is making a little pest of herself to get my attention, but do you know what?  It doesn’t bother me a bit.  In fact, I find myself hurrying to put down my armload so I can pat her even sooner. It’s endearing to have a little creature want you so much.  Some days I go outside just to see her run up to me with that swishing tail, and actually sit down and spend a few minutes with her for no other reason  than to be with her.  I guess that’s what happens when your children grow up and the dogs are all you have around to dote on.

What was it Jesus said?  If you then being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven, give good things to those who ask him? Matt 7:11.  I don’t for a minute pretend to understand how God feels about things, but Jesus gives us a hint here.  If I, an imperfect person who sometimes still allows sin into my life, can love my
children enough to give them good gifts, if I can still care enough about a
small animal to want to satisfy its desire for attention, what will God not do
for me? If that small child’s pestering endears him to me because it makes me know he wants to be with me, certainly if it can happen with an animal’s little nose bumping my leg, won’t my pestering do the same for God?  
 
And to the other side of the question, if I act like God’s attention means little to me, why should He give me any of it when I decide I could use it?  My mother always says, “If I say to God, ‘I’m too busy for you right now,’ what’s to keep Him from saying that to me?”  I think she has a point there.

And he spoke a parable unto them to the end that they ought always to pray, and not to faint; saying, There was in a city a judge, who feared not God, and regarded not man: and there was a widow in that city; and she came often to him, saying, Avenge me of my adversary. And he would not for awhile: but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow troubles me, I will avenge her, lest she wear me out by her continual coming. And the Lord said, Hear what the unrighteous judge says.  And shall not God avenge his elect that cry to him day and night and yet he is longsuffering over them? I say unto you, that he will avenge them speedily.  Luke 18:1-8.
 
Dene Ward

Lucas bought me a bird book for Mother’s Day one year.  This was not your average Audubon Society coffee table slab.  On the side of the book is a speaker, a push button and a tiny screen.  Each page in the book pictures a North American songbird with the usual blurb about its range, habits, and call.  Under the bird is a number.  When you put the correct number on the screen then push the button, you will hear that particular bird, actual recordings taken by the ornithology lab at Cornell University. 

I’ve heard the ugly squawk of blue jays all my life.  It seems fitting for this thug of a bird which bullies smaller birds and steals nests.  I’d been hearing a bird with a clear wooden whistle call for years.  I was positive it was a cuckoo, based solely on the cuckoo clocks I have heard, but as soon as I checked the cuckoo’s sound in my book, I knew I was mistaken.  On a whim one day, I punched in the blue jay’s number, wondering why in the world it was considered a songbird.  Suddenly a wooden whistle came floating out of the speakers.  This was a blue jay?  This was the sound I had become so enamored with?  It had never dawned on me that a bird could make more than one sound.

So blue jays were not the kindest birds in the forest.  I loved hearing that loud, clear call of theirs, and the fact that a blue jay could make such a lovely sound was strangely uplifting. I knew I would miss it if suddenly it disappeared.

How many times do we let our judgment of people, especially people we disagree with or have dealt with in less than ideal circumstances, keep us from seeing anything good about them?  How many times do we filter our views, not through the rose-colored glasses of kindness, but through a specialty lens we grind ourselves, one of malice that blocks out the good and magnifies the bad?  Ounce for ounce, hummingbirds are among the most vicious creatures on earth, actually attempting to impale one another on those long, sword-like beaks as they fight over the feeders we humans put out, yet we ooh and aah over them.  I really don’t think that the people with whom I have personality conflicts are actually out to murder me, so why can’t I see any of the pluses in their characters?

Isn’t there a human blue jay in your life?  Find that person today and take off the blinders.  Do something kind; say something kind.  Instead of pushing the button that releases a squawk, push the button that brings beautiful music.  Give him a chance to show his good side.  Isn’t that what you wish he would do for you?

The wicked one craves evil; his neighbor gets no mercy from him, Prov 21:10.

Love suffers long and is kind…does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not its own, is not provoked, does not keep track of evil…bears all things, believes all things, and hopes all things…love never fails, 1 Cor 13:4-7. 

Dene Ward