Before one of the surgeries, Keith built a bird feeder outside the window next to my favorite chair--a metal trough about five feet long on a wooden frame.  I must admit I have enjoyed this thing a whole lot more than I expected to.  We keep it filled with birdseed and Keith hung a cylinder of suet over it as well. 
            First the cardinal couple came to dine. They spend their time in the trough with the seed.  The suet is not their cup of tea, so to speak, but several others seem to prefer it   A hummingbird came and hovered next to it, trying his best to figure out how to get the nectar out of it, but finally gave up and flew back to the hummingbird feeder on the other side of the house.
            Then the catbird came calling.  He stood under it, with the bottom of it just out of reach.  First, he tried the hummingbird’s trick, but a catbird cannot hover, he quickly found out as he fell with a splat into the trough.  Then he started jumping up and down, trying to peck when he reached the height of his jump, once again falling into the trough, this time nearly doing a backward somersault.  Poor bird, I hope he didn’t hear me laughing at him, but you never think about a bird being so awkward as to fall on his backside.  Maybe he did hear me, because he left and did not come back for a long time.
            The next morning I looked out and a wren had landed on top of the hanging suet and calmly leaned down, pecking away.  Every so often he looked around as if to say, “See?  This isn’t so hard.”  After a few days he had pecked away most of his sure-footing.  The top of the suet was no longer flat, so gradually one foot would slide down and hang onto the side.  Every morning he pecked away until finally there was no room at all on the top and both feet clung to the side of the suet.  Then came the day he got a little too self-confident.  I looked out and he was hanging upside down from the bottom of the suet.  His little feet curled in tightly and deeply and he seemed to have a good hold, but he had not reckoned with his desire to eat.  He pecked so hard that he pushed himself off the suet and he, too, landed on his back in the trough.  Was he embarrassed?  No way.  He just hopped back up on the side and kept pecking.  There are things more important than saving face.
            Along came a little gray titmouse with his gray crest, big ringed eye, and the slimmest breast I had ever seen on a bird.  He too, figured out how to land on the suet, hang on, and peck.  Then one morning the suet cylinder fell and lay across the trough.  Here comes the catbird ready for an easy meal. The titmouse arrived shortly after and must have known something about catbirds.  He sat in the azalea and squealed ferociously until he finally scared the catbird away.  As soon as the titmouse had eaten and left, the big coward came back, but not long afterward the cardinal couple flew at him and off he went again.
            All of this makes me think about our efforts to feast on the bread of life.  Do we mind looking a little foolish sometimes in our eagerness to learn and grow spiritually?  Do we give up after one or two tries if things are more difficult than we expected?  Are we too frightened to admit we live on the Word of God—afraid we won’t be accepted by our peers, afraid we will be ridiculed, afraid no one will like us any more, afraid it may cost us socially, economically, or maybe some day, even physically?
            The little birds at my feeder teach me profound lessons every day.  Sometimes I need a prod to be more like the feisty little titmouse or the ingenious little wren who couldn’t care less how his hunger for suet makes him look.  Sometimes I need to be reminded that there are more important things than what everyone thinks about me, and that fear of others can make you look the most ridiculous of all.  Indeed, if a tiny little titmouse can scare away a big old catbird all by himself, why can’t I make Satan’s minions run away, especially with all the Help I have at hand?
 
As newborn babes long for the spiritual milk which is without guile, that you may grow thereby unto salvation, 1 Pet 2:2.
 
Dene Ward
 

I sat by the window the other morning watching the birds flit and fly as they visited my various feeders, sometimes sharing perches, other times chasing other birds away.  Eight to ten cardinals, over thirty-five sparrows, half a dozen titmice, a couple of wrens, eight goldfinches, a yellowthroat, and a red-bellied woodpecker flew in and out and around the feeders, somehow missing each other without the aid of the FAA and their air traffic controllers.  Even on the ground, the traffic grew thick as seven doves waddled in from the vine bed, weaving in and out of the birds who had given up on a seat at the feeders and sat below, feasting on the fallen birdseed.
            It was the middle of the coldest week of winter we have had here in North Florida in years, night time temperatures in the mid-teens, highs in the low forties.  The water in their water pans on top of the feeder posts froze solid.  Occasionally a cardinal landed, gazing at what used to be drinkable with a bereft look.  Eventually Keith, the big softie, took a boiling tea kettle outside and poured it on top of the frozen water.  At first, it just sluiced right off the ice, but finally began to melt it enough to give the birds something to drink, "on the rocks."  Times were hard for the bird population, and they needed our offer of birdseed, suet, and water, so they came freely and eagerly.
            Guess what happens in the summer?  The bird numbers dwindle significantly.  I only load the feeders once a week instead of every day.  I replace suet in the cages every month instead of every week.  When times are good, the seed eaters can find their own easily.  The carnivores don't need my block of suet so much.  And with the summer rains, puddles lie everywhere, and creeks run full.  Only three or four cardinals fly in with any regularity, and them just once a day.  Only the stodgy old doves come out of habit in the evenings.  I might see a titmouse or two at odd times, or maybe the new baby wrens who have been taught where to find an easy meal, but who will just as likely forsake us as soon as their wings are strong enough to take them further away. 
             And we, like the birds, fall prey to the good and easy times.  When we prosper, it's because of us, not because of God.  It's for us to use for ourselves, not for us to share with those less fortunate.  It's all about getting bigger and better, more and more, and God takes last place in any decision we make.  And sacrifice is for everyone else, all those fanatics who actually talk about God and make sacrifices proving their faith and devotion to Him.
             But when times are hard, boy, do we come running!  Now we pray, now we attend services so we can praise God and ask for help, for sustenance, for solutions to all our problems, in exactly the way we want them.  Not because we have suddenly become devoted servants of God, but because we need Him now.  When the good times return, we will be gone again, just like my birds.
          But here is one problem with that.  God does eventually run out of patience.  When we only want Him when times are rough, when we or someone we love has a grave illness, when the economy threatens the lifestyle we have grown accustomed to, someday, He will not give us the answer we want.  Instead He will say, as He did about the faithless Jews, As I called, and they would not hear, so they called, and I would not hear, says the LORD of hosts (Zech 7:13).
           I would love for my birds to throng my feeders all year long.  And I am sure that God would love for his children to do the same.  Perhaps we would do better to eat the seed of poverty than the seed of prosperity.  At least it looks that way out my window.
 
Take care lest you forget the LORD your God by not keeping his commandments and his rules and his statutes, which I command you today, lest, when you have eaten and are full and have built good houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply and your silver and gold is multiplied and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the LORD your God… (Deut 8:11-14).
 
Dene Ward
 

A few weeks ago Keith took the garbage to the dump in the pickup as he has done out here in the country for over forty years now.  It's one of the perks of our rural existence—no Waste Management bill, but that means we take care of it ourselves.  So, since the truck hadn’t been driven in a while, he took it down the straightaway on the way home, a couple miles past our turn-off and back, at highway speed.  A mechanic friend said it was the only way to blow out the pipes, so to speak, and would make the already twenty-four year old truck last longer.
            When he got home he muttered something about "those pesky wrens" and pulled a nest out of the grillwork on the front of the truck.  It was well past nesting season, even for birds that do so more than once, so he assumed the nest was empty.  As he pulled it out and tossed it, two small wrens fluttered to the grass, then half hopped, half flew to the nearest thing off the ground, the big shop fan on the carport.  Almost immediately the mother wren found her babies and shepherded them to the azaleas.  For a day or two we watched as they learned of necessity to fly a little sooner than they had planned, and called Chloe off of them more than once.
            Wrens are known for building nests practically anywhere.  This one may have learned a lesson.  In fact, we wondered between us what must have happened as Keith left the dump and headed down that rural highway, gradually picking up speed.  Somehow I can see two little heads peering over the edge of the nest, looking down the road as the wind tore at their feathers, glancing at one another with eyes wide and mouths agape. 
            "What's going on, Ethel?"
            "I don't know Lucy, but hang on!"
            The sad part is that most Carolina wrens lay four to six eggs.  Even supposing that some of the others had already flown the nest, it's quite possible that a one or two were actually blown away in that wild ride.
            Life can be a pretty wild ride, too.  It's that way because we messed it up several thousand years ago.  God told Adam and Eve they would face hard work, and lots of sweat, pain, and anguish because of their error.  We face the same things, and our part in sin makes it only just. 
            ​You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm. (Job 30:22)
            Sometimes the winds of trial blow so hard we have to hang on by our toenails.  Some don't make it down the highway as far as others, being blown aside by disease or accident or simple wear and tear on a fragile, physical body.  And all of that is a blessing, really, even if we do have a hard time seeing it that way.  When God kicked the first couple out of Eden, their access to the Tree of Life ended.  But who would want to live forever in a sin-cursed world when we can move on to something so much better?
            I think we often get too involved in trying to find a reason when the ride gets rough.  It seems to be the only way we can handle a misfortune.  But sometimes it is not about a bad decision we made.  Sometimes it's because someone else decided to go warm up the tires and exercise the engine and we just happened to get caught in the grillwork.  Time and chance happen to all, the Preacher tells us and that may just be the only "why" there is.  Make the most of it.  The other day Keith came across those two little wrens, hopping, flitting, and flapping in the dust of the dirt floor equipment shed.  They had survived their ordeal and gotten on with life.
            When you reach my age, you find yourself looking back on that daredevil ride you have taken.  You hope you can take a little solace in how you faced it—resolutely, courageously, determined to see it through without whining or complaining too much, without being too embarrassed to look in the mirror and see what you were made of.  Even when the ride is over, the Devil may yet come along and yank you out of the last comfortable place you call home and then what?
            Then you live on the thing that God's people have always survived on—hope.  We seem so busy trying to make this life the reward—when it isn't and never has been for any but the unbeliever—that we seldom talk about hope any longer.  When did you last hear a lesson on Heaven?  Not on what happens after death, something no one can say with any assurance at all anyway, but on what happens when the Lord comes again—the reward for our faithfulness despite the difficulties of this life, despite the roaring winds, the monster of a revving engine trying to gobble us up, the potholes and the bumps in the road.  That reward should be our focus, not this wild ride of a life.  Someday very soon, it won't matter at all.
            "Hang on Ethel!"  Making it through the ride is worth it.
 
When the tempest passes, the wicked is no more, but the righteous is established forever. (Prov 10:25)

Dene Ward

This one makes me feel a little like Aesop. 
            For the past few weeks, a brown cottontail rabbit has come hopping through our property in the early evening hours.  We have only two kinds of rabbits in Florida, the other being the marsh rabbit, with shorter ears, legs, and tail than the cottontail, but who is also a strong swimmer and lives near water.  So we on our dry property knew exactly what this one was, the good old Eastern Cottontail that thrives practically everywhere east of the Rockies.  A little over a foot tall, with ears not quite as large as some, but obvious when you see the silhouette through some bushes, and that powder puff white tail that cannot be missed when he runs.
            After a few days, he discovered our yard, just under the bird feeders.  Due to all the falling birdseed, the grass grows especially green and lush there.  One evening after Keith had mown, the rabbit crept through the fence, crawled through the jasmine vines, and plopped right down in that spot, flat on his belly, and enjoyed the grass buffet laid out for him.  He did not have to move an inch, just turn his head in a circle and eat around him.  It took a good half hour.
            The next evening really surprised us.  He crept through the fence but stopped under the jasmine vines, settled in, and proceeded to bite off foot long lengths of vine, and eat them, the stems growing shorter and shorter as they neared his chomping little jaws.  I have plenty of jasmine, but he must have eaten three or four feet of the stuff.  Poor guy is really hungry, I thought, so I laid a couple of large outer lettuce leaves right under the jasmine the next day.  Now he sits on the lettuce as if it were a royal pillow and eats the vines, not exactly what I had in mind, but okay.  I checked to be sure, and jasmine is not toxic to rabbits.
            But we also have a red fox visiting us in the evenings.  Foxes are extremely toxic to bunny rabbits.  This fox however, visits our grape arbor.  We have had a bad year, after an extremely good one last year, but we wondered what was happening to the few grapes we did have.  We looked out the office window one night and found out.  That fox wandered along the grape vines, pulling off the ripe ones and eating them.  Then he stood on his hind legs and got the next higher ones.  If we ate more than three dozen grapes during the harvest month of August I would be very surprised.
            This bunny has no problem eating.  He has no problem traipsing out of his burrow to find what he knows he needs.  Neither does the fox for that matter.  He ventures where he can easily smell that we have been, sitting on the swing under the arbor, and probably watches us walk there from his cover in the woods.  He comes anyway, because he is hungry.  And they both seem to know what is good for them and what is not.  Why don't my brothers and sisters?  When the elders have to beg us to attend classes, what does that say about our desire for the bread of life?  When extra classes are offered and go barely noticed, what does it say about our priorities?  Lately, Keith and I have been approached for private studies with both individuals and whole families.  We are thrilled.  But it should be so many more than these few. 
           A fox and a bunny rabbit are not only smarter than some of my brethren, maybe they are braver too.  One of these days, they may wish they had listened to their spiritual hunger pains.  One of these days, it may not be so easy to find.  One of these days it may just be too late.
 
​I am the bread of life. ​Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. ​This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh (John 6:48-51).
 
Dene Ward

The longer I live here, the more I realize that Florida is just plain weird.  None of the popular garden books work.  None of the advice on the gardening section of the morning shows makes any sense.  It doesn't even come at the right time of year for us.  And having become a birder, I can tell you that we seem to have fewer of the birds pictured in the bird books.  Oh, we have some of the ones you see up north all year, mainly cardinals, titmice, chickadees, phoebes, woodpeckers, blue jays and mockingbirds.  Then the water birds and larger birds of prey, like owls and hawks of various kinds.  But not goldfinches, not painted buntings, not black and white warblers, not yellow-rumped warblers, not even robins—except for a few brief weeks when they pass through on their migratory paths.
            And we didn't even see those few for years.  Not until we started setting out large shallow pans of water on top of the feeder poles.  Suddenly we were spending hours with binoculars and the bird book trying to figure out which was what.  Still, it took a while before the word passed among the bird population that water and food was free and easy on the Ward property.
            Four or five years ago we saw our first pair of goldfinches.  In the fall you can hardly miss them.  Their bright yellow feathers and contrasting black and white chevrons are plain as day, even without binoculars.  In the spring it's a bit tougher.  Having changed during winter, their feathers are drabber, almost olive, and the only way to tell them from the pine warblers are the faint streaks on the warblers' breasts.  After a couple of weeks, the goldfinches begin to molt and the bright yellow once again shows up, at least on the breeding males.  The non-breeding males are still drabber than the other males and have no black mark on their foreheads.  The females look a lot like those younger males and also sport a white patch on their rumps.  But it begins to be obvious that they are goldfinches, too.  It seems like they actually stayed a little longer this year before scooting back up north.
            My book tells me they often appear in flocks.  Must be another difference for Florida.  The first three years we only had the one pair.  Last year we suddenly had two pairs of goldfinches.  Then one day this past spring, I walked up to the window that looks out on our homemade aviary and there in the feed trough just outside the house was a whole flock of goldfinches happily pecking away.  I counted ten.  Ten!  Wow, I had hit the jackpot!
            So I stood there and watched for a while until they suddenly became aware of us and all flew off in a flash.  After that a couple of them took turns on the hanging feeders further away from the house.  I sat down and watched them a little longer.  You know what?  The two on the hanging feeder were every bit as cute and fun to watch, every bit as bright and cheerful a yellow as the ten had been.  They didn't lose their God-given glory just because there were fewer of them.
            And that made me wonder, why are we so impressed with numbers?  Why are we so impressed with titles?  Why are we so impressed with brand names and designer labels?  Why are we so impressed with outward appearance?  The more zeroes in a price tag, the more letters after a name, or the more awards on a shelf, the more we think of the person, the job, the car, the home, the neighborhood, the title and position.  And many times, the more wrong we are about what really matters.
            Better is a little, with righteousness, than great revenues with injustice. (Prov 16:8)
            How much better is it to get wisdom than gold! Yea, to get understanding is rather to be chosen than silver. (Prov 16:16)
            He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; And he that rules his spirit, than he that takes a city. (Prov 16:32)
            Better is the poor that walk in his integrity, Than he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich. (Prov 28:6)
            One little goldfinch is every bit as fascinating to watch as a whole flock stretched out on a feeder, pecking not only at the seeds but sometimes each other.  One little goldfinch is just as yellow, just as cute, and just as worthy of my attention as fifty.  In fact, since he is the only one, I am usually a lot more grateful for him.
 
But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” (1Sam 16:7)
​Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.” (John 7:24)

Dene Ward

We had chickens for a while and with the hens came a rooster.  Yes, they do crow in the morning, and not just at dawn.  Sometimes they are a little off—they anticipate the dawn and crow early.
            We had visitors once who were not used to roosters, city folk that they were.  Their three year old slept with them in the only extra bed we had, and that room was right next to the chicken coop.  About 5 a.m., when the sky might have lightened to gray if you thought about it real hard, the rooster went about his act.  We usually slept through it, having been inured for a good while, but our guests said their small child sat bolt upright in the bad and said, “What was that, Mommy?”  None of them ever got back to sleep.  The rooster did his thing about every fifteen minutes like a snooze button gone haywire until the dawn actually arrived, and that child came out of that bedroom with eyes as big as saucers.  Too bad you can’t muzzle a rooster.
            But maybe we shouldn’t muzzle those roosters after all.  Just as they woke the farmers to begin their day’s work, metaphorical roosters can wake us up.  Who doesn’t recall the real rooster that woke Peter from his self-deluded state?  And straightway the second time the cock crew. And Peter called to mind the word, how that Jesus said unto him, Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice. And when he thought thereon, he wept. (Mark 14:72)  He wasn’t the only one in scriptures who suddenly “awoke” to his sins.
            How about the lost son?  And he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. But when he came to himself he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish here with hunger! (Luke 15:15-17)  I can just see him leaning over the trough as I did so many times when we had pigs of our own, and coming face to face—almost nose to filthy running nose--with a hog.  He may have been awakened by a  pig instead of a rooster, but the effect was the same.
            And then there were the exiled Jews whom Ezekiel spent his life trying to convert.  God said that when the Messianic kingdom began they would “remember and be confounded;” they would “remember…and loathe themselves” for their sins (Ezek 16:63; 36:31).  That wonderful new kingdom would be so much more than they deserved that it would shake them out of their complacency.
            In Acts 2, that crowd of Jewish worshippers were awakened by the events of the day and the convicting word that Peter spoke.  “And when they heard...they were cut to the heart…” (v 37).
            And who can forget the light dawning on David when Nathan the prophet looked at him and said, “Thou art the man?”  (2 Sam 12:7, 13) 
            If you’ve never had a rooster crow in your life, you may still be asleep in your smugness and self-righteousness.  It almost hurts when you are roused out of a deep sleep, and it should hurt even more when you are roused out of a spiritual sleep. 
            Pray for a rooster today.  And pray that you will hear it.
 
But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” (Eph 5:13-14) 

 Dene Ward

Keith called me outside one Saturday.  I was in the middle of something important and was a little irritated. It is hard enough to do things these days when I have to lean so close, squint so hard, and put up with the resulting headaches trying to see what I am doing.  Then he wants to interrupt me, and I will just have to start all over again.  But I sighed, a louder one than was called for, and dutifully went outside.
            The afternoon sun was waning, for which I was grateful.  No matter how dim the day I have to reach for sunglasses nearly all the time now.  He took me to a shaded spot on the west side of the field and pointed.  Then I saw it, or them as it turned out, probably a hundred dragonflies darting here and there all over the place. 
            He felt bad for me because I could not see them all the time.  In fact, I would not have known what they were had he not told me, but I think my vision of them was the best.  He saw them in the shade as well, when they once again became ugly black bugs, but I only saw them as they came out of the shadows, the sun striking their wings and lighting them up like tiny golden light bulbs.  Then they would disappear, but more would appear in their place, over and over, darting here and there in movements no one could possibly predict.  I think my view was much more magical than his, and therefore far more delightful.  We stood there watching them for several minutes.  I probably could have stood their longer since I had the better view, a view he would never have because he could see so well.
            No matter what we may be going through in this life, God always prepares good things for us, but we will never see them if we always stay inside ourselves, commiserating with ourselves, rewinding over and over the tape of all our troubles till we can recite them from memory to anyone who asks, and even some who don’t.  There is a silver lining somewhere if we just search, and in the searching who knows what treasures we might find? Besides, it will keep us too busy to complain so much.
            Go out there today and look for those silver linings—or the golden dragonflies, or whatever God has specially prepared to help you through this day.  You will find them, but only if you have a mind to.
 
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.  Psalm 23:5,6.
 
Dene Ward

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 created 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 sheds 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.
 
Dene Ward

I believe I have mentioned this little guy before, a migratory visitor who, despite his love of worms rather than birdseed, stopped by our homemade aviary one day a couple of springs ago.  He looks like nothing less than a little old man—scrawny legs, pot belly, and three stripes across his pale head like the sparsest comb-over you ever saw.
            As he walked across the area outside my window, he stopped occasionally and poked his long thin beak into the ground like a cane.  Occasionally he stopped and pumped it, up and down, up and down, then pulled it out and walked on.  Finally I saw him stop, poke, pump, then stand very still with that beak still in the ground.  Suddenly he began to pull and pull and pull, and gradually a long black earthworm appeared, rising a quarter inch at a time out of the ground.  That worm hung onto the dark earth for all he was worth, stretching like a piece of melted mozzarella.  Suddenly, he ran out of dirt to hang onto, sproinged out of the ground like a rubber band, and the woodcock swallowed it in nothing flat.  Then he continued his stroll, poking and pumping every foot or two.
            Sometimes we can be just like that worm, hanging onto the world for all we are worth while claiming to have left it all behind.  We may be at the assembly of the saints every time the door is open, but our lives during the week tell stories on our "devotion" to the Lord.  We get as close as possible to people and things that taint our purity.  What kind of movies do we watch?  What kind of television shows?  I have heard people discuss things that even the world calls "racy," and "suggestive," while claiming to live lives of purity and holiness.  What kinds of clothes do we wear?  Do they adorn a chaste character or do they suggest exactly the opposite?  What do we talk about?  Are we all about money and status and the latest gizmo or does our love of the Lord and spiritual matters monopolize our conversation?  We may be just like that earthworm, struggling to hold on to this world and its cares while the Lord is doing his best to pull us to him. 
          Ultimately, Christ won't be like that woodcock.  If we want to leave completely, he will let us, just like he did those supposed disciples in John 6.  They left and he never chased after them.  He simply turned to his disciples and asked, "Are you leaving, too?"  It's time to make a decision and mean it.  Are we for the world and the ruler of this world (John 12:31), or are we for the Lord?
 
Little children, let no one deceive you. Whoever practices righteousness is righteous, as he is righteous. Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil. No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God's seed abides in him, and he cannot keep on sinning because he has been born of God (1John 3:7-9).                                   

Dene Ward

Every spring we see a lot of birds passing through on their migration back north, kinds we never see otherwise in this warm climate.  Sandhill cranes fly right over us following the same flight path as the jets, helicopters, and blimps, from our southeast corner to our northwest boundary post.  You can hear them coming from miles away.  A couple of goldfinches visit our feeder for two or three days in the spring and fall.  Their bright yellow is hard to miss, even for me.  A painted bunting thrills us with his lightning quick “here and gone” visits.  A blue grosbeak couple spend a few weeks with us every other year or so.  They actually take the time to nest and breed before moving on.
            A few weeks ago we had another two day visitor—a woodcock.  He’s an odd-looking fellow, a foot long or less, with a chunky body, a striped head and a very long and thin bill.  He looks a bit like a bent old man with a cane.  I watched as he walked around the foot of the feeder, poking that bill into the ground again and again like a baker checking for the doneness of her cake.  Suddenly he plunged his beak to the hilt, then began pumping away.  He’s found something, I thought, and sure enough he began to pull up a long black worm.  The worm did its best to hold onto the last clod of dirt, stretching like melted cheese on a pizza, but eventually he popped out and the woodcock downed him in the blink of an eye.  The next day the woodcock was gone too, another sojourner on his way home.
            We sing a song:  “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passing through.”  Is that how we really feel?  Those migrating birds have no problem leaving behind feeders full of seeds that magically replenish themselves.  They’re here and gone without a thought for what’s left behind.  Even the grosbeaks who stay long enough to build a nest and raise a few chicks will up and leave as soon as the task is accomplished.
            And what do we do but spend our time, money, and effort on the temporary with little thought for the eternal.  We don’t just build a nest, we build a monument.  “This is where someone like me ought to be living and this is the type of house I ought to have in the neighborhood I ought to have it.”  Would we spend that much time, money, and effort on a motel room?  Because that’s all this world is.  How about spending that much time, money, and effort on the treasure in heaven?
            You’re just a goldfinch passing though for a couple of days.  Even the birds know where home really is.
 
These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. (Heb 11:13-16)