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)

My dogs brought me a present the other afternoon.  I walked out onto the carport and there by my chair, where I like to sit in the evening, lay a dead possum.  Not just any dead possum—this one they had buried for awhile so it would age properly, then dug up to lay before my “throne.”  I imagine that when the wind blew the right way, my neighbors knew about my present too.
            I have had cats bring me equally lovely gifts before, but this was a first for dogs.  As you can imagine, I did not jump for joy.  In fact, I hardly expressed any appreciation at all.  I had not felt very good that day—these medications do a number on my stomach, and this gift, no matter how sincerely it may have been meant, did not help.
            These two small creatures rely on me for everything.  I feed them, make sure they have their vaccinations and medications, care for them when they feel bad, and play with them when I have the chance.  And for that little bit they want nothing more in this world than to please me.  Red heelers are often called “Velcro dogs” because they stick next to their masters’ sides.  Magdi and Chloe will even turn their noses up at a treat just so I can pet them.  Loving is much more important to them than food. 
            And if for any reason I am displeased with them, their ears go down, their heads bow, their tails are tucked and they practically crawl on their knees to me.  Magdi will rub her head against my leg over and over.  I know she is saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”  If she isn’t, she certainly has me fooled.
            So how do I treat my Master?  Do I want nothing more in the world than to please Him?  Do I repent on my knees in abject sorrow when I know I don’t?  Or am I too proud for that?  Do I truly understand that any gift I give is really no more to Him than that dead possum was to me?  Do I appreciate that I can never repay what He has done for me, and therefore try my best to show gratitude and reverence with the gift of obedience and faith, a gift that still falls far short of repayment? 
            Sometimes I wonder if dogs show more respect for their masters than we do for ours, and their masters are anything but perfect, holy, and awesome.  Maybe we should take a lesson.
 
For we are all become as one who is unclean, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away…
Even so you also, when you have done all the things that are commanded you say, “We are unprofitable servants.  We have done that which it was our duty to do,” Isa 64:6; Luke 17:10.
 
Dene Ward

Every dog we have ever had has loved a good belly rub, but Chloe seems to have taken it to another level.  It isn’t just that she begs for a belly rub, it’s that she thinks God put her here to have her belly scratched, and that scratching her belly may be the only reason He put us here.
            A few people seem to have the same opinion about themselves and the church.  The only reason God instituted a church is to pander to their every need.  It seldom seems to cross their minds that other people have needs as well, and that those needs may be even more critical than theirs.  Chloe wouldn’t care if the house were on fire if she saw us running outside.  She would still scamper up, plop herself on the ground and roll over—isn’t that why we came outside, to scratch her belly?  A Christian who thinks he is the center of the universe is behaving the same way.
            Others think the only reason God put them in the church was for the church to listen to them.  They never ask a question in a Bible class, or offer a comment to stimulate discussion and deep thinking.  Instead they have all the answers and are happy to tell you exactly how things ought to be done, even things that are not specifically spelled out in the scriptures.  They know best.  It amazes me when these are people new to a congregation, who don’t yet know the background and experiences of the people they are trying to advise, often including elders, or who are in their mid-twenties with little life experience behind them.  Kind of reminds me of Chloe who thinks a belly rub is appropriate any time of day, any place, even while you are trying to shoot a rattlesnake that she obviously has not seen.  But she knows best, Boss!
            Then there are the ones who think their feelings, or the feelings of a family member, are all that count.  The church is supposed to pussyfoot around and never offer exhortation or criticism that might “offend” by our definition of the word.  They think they are put here to be stroked and petted and “have their belly rubbed” regardless of what might be happening to their souls.  Reminds me of that passage about people “whose god is their belly”—nothing matters at the moment but how they feel.  I am not about to let Chloe roll over on her back in the middle of a garden row I have just planted that is supposed to help feed us this year, no matter how much it hurts her feelings for me to tell her, “No!”  Some things are more important than her feelings, and if she were my child instead of my dog, I would explain that to her rather than let her do as she pleased and cost us a few hundred dollars worth of groceries. 
            So what do you do about people like that?  You do the same thing the Lord did for you when you were still that immature and selfish.  You tolerate, you teach, you show them a better way with the example of your own service and willingness to accept abuse or take on responsibilities that are not yours but that you do because they need doing and you are there.  You love them in a way they don’t deserve and yes, you rebuke when necessary and hope they won’t act childishly and run off to play somewhere else, where everyone will scratch the belly they offer, and let them be the only ones who matter and the only ones worth listening to.
            The Lord did all that for us, and he expects us to do it for them.  Some day maybe they will learn to be better than a silly little dog who thinks the world is here to scratch her belly.  Didn’t you?
 
And we exhort you, brethren, admonish the disorderly, encourage the fainthearted, support the weak, be longsuffering toward all. 1Thes 5:14
 
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, 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

One spring morning a few years ago I sat on the carport snapping beans.  The humidity was still low, the bugs were few, and a cool breeze ruffled my curls and made the morning comfortable.  The minute I set myself up in a lawn chair, a blue plastic five gallon bucket at the ready for tips and tails, and a pink hospital tub full of early pole beans in my lap, the dogs came running, looking for a handout.
            “These are green beans,” I told them, “not treats.”  Yet they sat watching me expectantly, one dog parked next to either knee, ears at attention, tails swishing sparkly grains of sand across the rough concrete.  Occasionally Magdi’s big brown eyes strayed from my face to my hands and she licked her chops.
            “Okay,” I told her, “but you’ll be sorry,” and I handed her a long, flat, raw bean.  I could hardly believe it as she crunched away, swallowed, and begged for another.  So I rifled through the tub and found one too big and tough for human consumption.  Down the hatch it went.
            Chloe, who was then just over a year old, bumped my knee with her nose.  “Me too,” her equally big brown eyes said, so I gave her a bean.  Instantly she spat it out.  “Yuk!” was written all over her furry face.
            “Told ya,” I smugly commented.
            Yet Magdi continued to down the culls as I found them, relishing every bite.  Chloe watched Magdi, then looked at the bean she had rejected.  She sniffed it and her ears drooped a bit.  She looked at Magdi again, who was happily chomping a bug-bitten throwaway.  Chloe looked at her bean and licked it.  She looked at Magdi again, then gingerly picked up her own bean and began to chew.  She managed to choke the thing down, then sat up and looked at me with that familiar expectant gaze.
            “You’re kidding,” I said to her, but handed her another bean.  This one went down more easily.  Luckily I had a large supply of fresh-picked beans and Keith had not been too careful in his picking so I had plenty of bad ones to share.  By the time I finished Magdi had long since had her fill, but Chloe was scouring the carport like a fuzzy, red-headed vacuum cleaner, scarfing up even the tips and tails that had missed the trash bucket.
            Chloe was no longer a puppy, but she was still learning from her older mentor.  The simple “peer pressure” of seeing someone she respected eating something she didn’t even like influenced her to do the same thing.
            It’s time to look around and see whom you might be influencing.  Just because there are no toddlers in the house doesn’t mean you don’t need to be careful.  Whatever your age, there is someone younger watching how you handle the universal experiences of life so they will know what to do when their turn comes.
            And to the other side of the equation—why do you do the things you do?  Are you as strong as you think you are when the world presses you to act in certain ways?  Are you doing things you don’t even enjoy just to fit in?  Stop watching how others react.  Stop making decisions based on something besides right and wrong.  If you don’t, you may find yourself licking a rough concrete slab, eating a pile of tough, bug-bitten green beans just because everyone else is doing it.
 
Be careful to observe all these words that I command you, that it may go well with you and with your children after you forever when you do what is good and right in the sight of the Lord your God.  When the Lord your God cuts off before you the nations whom you go in to dispossess, and you dispossess them and dwell in their land, take care that you be not ensnared to follow after them, after they have been destroyed before you, and that you do not inquire about their gods, saying, ‘How did these nations serve their gods?—that I may also do the same.’ You shall not worship your God in that way…Everything that I command you, you shall be careful to do.  You shall not add to it nor take from it, Deut 12:28-32.
 
Dene Ward