Keith says I have a personality disorder—I think my name is Francis and I was born in Assisi.  Can I help it if the hawk insisted on having a conversation with me this morning?
            I haven’t been out for awhile due to one thing and another, but he must remember me from all the times I went out while he was a baby and spoke to him up in his nest.  So whenever I am outside and he is anywhere nearby, he gives me a shout, and I say hello. 
            I had my trekking poles so I could give Chloe a little bit of exercise.  She is a bit like her mistress, prone to gaining weight at the slightest sniff of food, forget about actually eating it, and she needed a walk.  After our first greeting across the fence from one another, the hawk flew behind me and caught up, still staying in the trees on the other side of the boundary, but a little closer this time.
            I told him he should come on over.  If he wanted to stay safe, we had plenty of trees, plenty of food—he should have known that anyway.  His parents had sat on the tomato fence in our garden, diving for mice, squirrels, rabbits, and other goodies that they took to him for supper every night.  I kept walking and again he flew to catch up, but once again landed on the other side of the fence.
            When we reached the point where the path cut inward to the center of our property, I told him it was time for him to make his decision.  “Come on,” I told him.  “You’ve been here before.  You grew up here.  You know it’s a good place and a safe place.  If you stay over there, who is going to look after you?”
            I waited a minute then turned and headed down the path toward the drive.  His wings flapped behind me like a big rug flapping on a clothesline in the wind.  I turned, only to see he was headed away, deeper into the woods. 
            I suspect I will still hear from him once in awhile and even see him again.  At least until that time when something nabs him and he stops showing up.  It’s a pity.  He would last longer if he stayed close by, but now some neighbor may shoot him just for fun, or he may stray into some other hawk’s territory and lose the fight for it.  That’s what happens when you turn your back because all you can see is restrictions instead of safety, and when all you want to see of the other side of the fence is freedom instead of danger.  Sooner or later, one way or the other, it will be too late to come back.
 
In the fear of Jehovah is strong confidence; and his children shall have a place of refuge. The fear of Jehovah is a fountain of life, that one may depart from the snares of death. Prv 14:26,27.
 
Dene Ward

If you have been with me for awhile,  you will realize that this is an old one.  Chloe turned 14 this past weekend, and her days are obviously numbered, but we can still learn a lesson or two from her.

We have a new puppy.  Chloe is an Australian cattle dog, a companion for our 6 year old Australian.  They are great dogs, playful, loyal, and smart—too smart sometimes for their owners’ good! 
            Magdalene, our older dog, seems to enjoy the little one, even though she did have to growlingly remind her yesterday that her tail was NOT a chew toy.  They both walk with me now, Chloe struggling with her short legs and puppy-plump tummy to keep up, and we look like a parade as we make our morning laps.  Magdi has developed some arthritis in her hips so they sit out after the first two rounds, but Chloe still had excess energy this morning.  She wanted to be with Magdi, but wanted to run too, so she compromised by running circles around the patient older dog, by turns prancing and ripping back and forth, turning on a dime, as that breed is capable of doing, and yipping playfully.  I thought, as I rounded my last bend and came upon this scene that no matter what the scientists tell me about dogs not having emotions, if she did not have it, Chloe was managing a very good impression of pure, unadulterated joy.
            First century Christians had that feeling in spades.  I did a study on joy recently.  Do you know what surprised me?  Not a single time does the New Testament say their joy was caused by the physical things in this life—not their health, their wealth, their careers, their homes, not even the weather—is listed as a cause for their joy at all.  If it’s in there, I missed it.
            What caused their joy?  Hearing the gospel, Acts 13:42; being baptized, 8:39; having a hope, Rom 12:12; being counted worthy to suffer dishonor for Christ, Acts 5:41; being afflicted, 2 Cor 7:4; being persecuted and having their possessions confiscated, Heb 10:32-34; being put to grief through trials, 1 Pet 1:6-9; becoming partakers of the suffering of Christ, 1 Pet 4:12-16—whoa, now!  What’s going on here?  Are these a bunch of masochists or what?
            The problem is that we confuse joy with happiness.  Hap-piness comes because of things that hap-pen, as does un-hap-piness.  Joy is an overriding foundation for how we live our lives.  I may experience moments of unhappiness, but as long as I do not let them overcome my life of joy, I am able to survive with that joy intact.  I may lose my belongings, lose a loved one, contract a serious illness, even face death, and still not lose my joy. 
          All those things that caused joy in the early Christians are based upon having a Savior who has gone through every type of problem I ever will have (Heb 4:15), and more than that, gave up an incomprehensible position (Phil 2:6,7), and separated himself from the Father for the first time in all Eternity (Matt 27:46), all so I could have salvation.  Anything I have to face in this life, no matter how dire, is petty compared to that.  That is why I should only experience moments of grief.  To make a “career” of sadness is to devalue everything He went through for me.  Nothing I have to face is worse than He faced so that I might some day be in a place where joy will reach its full potential.
            Maybe, as Thoreau said in Walden, “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” but not Christians.  We lead lives of joyful anticipation.
 
Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial among you, which comes upon you to prove you, as though a strange thing happened to you; but insomuch as you are partakers of Christ’s sufferings, rejoice, that at the revelation of his glory also you may rejoice with exceeding joy.   1 Peter 4:12,13
 
Dene Ward

When I was a child, I had the notion that just like I lived in a house all the time, birds lived in nests all the time.  I was an adult before I realized that birds build nests primarily for breeding.  There needs to be a place to lay those eggs, incubate them, and then safely raise the young to maturity.  Sometimes the empty nest is then used for roosting but that is not the main purpose.  Also, the males of some species build nests to attract the female, then never use it, but again, that is not the norm among most species.
            Nests are built almost entirely of natural elements:  twigs, mud, grass, moss, plant fibers, fur, and feathers, for example.  Ruby-throated hummingbirds also use spider webs.  Blue grosbeaks have been known to weave snakeskins into their nests. *Shudder* The builders are limited to things light enough and small enough to carry in their beaks.  The nest must be strong enough to withstand wind and be waterproof against rain, yet large enough for an entire family!  It will take a bird hundreds or perhaps even thousands of back-and-forth trips to complete a nest.  I have seen a couple of hawks build a nest before, flying back and forth and back and forth, and I believe it.
            Birds build several kinds of nests, each species seeming to home in on one specialty.  A platform nest is, as you might guess, large and mainly flat with only a small depression in the middle to hold the eggs and later the baby birds.  A platform nest can be built on the ground, in the water, on cliffs, bridges, and balconies.  The platform gives young birds a "playground" and parents a "landing strip."  Many waterfowl and birds of prey use platform nests.
             A cup nest is a variation of the platform nest, built around a platform which is attached to the sides of trees, or shrubs, or cliffs, or even on the ground.  This is the type of nest most commonly featured in drawings and 75% of all songbirds use it. 
            Probably the simplest type of nest is a ground nest, which is simply a depression scraped out of the ground.  It contains no other materials, and is probably the least safe nest there is.  Killdeer use them, along with another species or two, but apparently not many.
            A cavity nest is a hole, usually excavated in the trunk or limb of a tree.  Bluebirds and woodpeckers are among those who prefer this type of nest.  A small hole leads to a chamber that can be as large as 10 inches across.  It may be the most well-sheltered nest-type there is.  Bluebird boxes obviously mimic this type of nest.
            A pendulous nest looks like a small sack hanging from a tree—or perhaps a scruffy, well-worn sock.  It seems to be the safest from predators because it is attached to the ends of very small branches that large predators cannot safely maneuver.  These nests give their occupants a wild ride whenever the wind blows, though.  They are woven from plant fibers and lined with grass, with a small hole in the side to give parents access to the babies.  Orioles, kinglets, and some tropical birds prefer this type of home.*
            Wrens are noted for their speedy and creative nest-building.  They prefer a cavity nest, but will nest in any type of cavity they can find that is left alone long enough—sometimes as little as one afternoon.  We have found them in old coffee cans that we use for feed—once a day--which leaves them untouched for nearly 24 hours, plenty of time for an industrious wren to lay claim to one.  We have found wrens' nests tucked into the bumper of the truck.  We have found them between an upside down broom brush and the ceiling of the carport.  One time we found one in the rain gutter.  As soon as we saw it and saw that the eggs had not yet been laid, we moved it.  We were not being mean to the bird, but trying to save the future babies from drowning—during nesting season it rains here nearly every afternoon, not just calm drizzles, but gullywashers.
            Through all this I can't help but think of that old saying which, I found out recently in a women's class, many of those under 40 have never heard:  you can't keep the birds from flying over your head, but you can keep them from building a nest in your hair.
            I hate to say this, but folks, we have become a bit Pharisaical about more than a few things.  One of them is our definition of sin.  A young man told me once that before his conversion he lived a wild life.  Even after several years he still had trouble with temptation.  But some older Christians had told him that if he was tempted at all, he was sinning!  He shouldn't even have a desire to sin.  He said they looked down on him as if he were less a Christian than they simply because he had to overcome more often.  I could say a sharp thing or two about that, like maybe they aren't tempted anymore because the Devil knows he already has them.  But probably what is going on is a failure to understand the meanings of words.  If you don't want to do something, or don't like something, no one can tempt you with it.  If you don't like chocolate, for example, (yes, there are some alien creatures like that out there), no one can tempt you off your diet with a chocolate cake, now can they?  That is pure logic.  So yes, temptation means you want to do something.
            So what does that have to do with birds and their nests?  Thoughts will fly through your mind now and again, perhaps more often in your early walk or during times of stress.  What did you do with that thought?  Did you shoo it away like a wren who is building her nest in a dangerous place?  Or did you sit there and meditate on it, chew on it, run it around in your mind again and again until it "conceived" into a bad fantasy, or bad words, or even a bad action?  In one case the bird flew over your head and you recognized the danger there and refused to think of it again—you were tempted, but temptation is not a sin; it never conceived.  In the other case, you let that bird land long enough to build not just a nest but a downright mansion in your hair—you were tempted and you gave into that temptation and let it become sin in some fashion or the other.
            Please, people, do not mistake temptation for sin.  You will wind up living a miserable life with no hope because the Devil sends those birds out, not just one dove and one raven like Noah, but droves of them every day, trying to steal you from the Lord.  When you realize just how many times you have succeeded in driving out those birds, not giving in to the sin, you will become stronger and stronger and even more determined to drive them away.  How many have you swatted at just today?  See how many sins you have avoided?  Good for you!  Don't let those birds make a nest in your hair.  And don't let someone else tell you that because you are tempted you are less a Christian than they.  In fact, by discouraging "even one of these little ones," I would say that they are the ones who need to worry.
 
But each one is tempted when he is carried away and enticed by his own lust. Then when lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death. (Jas 1:14-15).
Blessed is the man that endures temptation; for when he has been approved, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord promised to them that love him. (Jas 1:12).
 
Dene Ward
 
*All the bird information in this article is from a book called Birds of Florida—Field Guide by Stan Tekiela.  He has many state-specific Field Guides, and if you enjoy watching the birds in your yard, you can probably find one for your state.  They are available online.
 
 

Have you had a child, or perhaps an older relative, do this?  They notice a sore on their arm or leg and they sit there and pick at it over and over until suddenly they hold out the offending appendage and cry, "Look! It's bleeding!!"
            "Of course it's bleeding!" you want to shout back at them.  After all, they are the primary reason for that.
            We are a complaining people, but if something is bothering you, if it nags at you again and again and again, maybe the fault is your own.  Maybe you've sat there picking at it in your mind, over and over, until it finally bleeds.  Now you have something real to worry about.
            I do realize that all anxiety is not quite that simple.  Some of us do have issues in that regard.  But others just can't seem to leave well enough alone.  Nothing suits us until the blood flows.  And that is exactly the basis for all whining and complaining, for if it is truly something serious that is worth discussing and being concerned about, something you can actually fix, then that's what you do—fix it.  And that is far less satisfying to some people than seeing a problem worsen by constantly picking at it.
            We don't just do this to others.  We often do it to ourselves, wondering "what if" until all possibilities have been exhausted and then starting over again.  Pick, pick, pick.
            You know what the vet does when a dog has a sore spot or a surgery incision or something else he is likely to lick and worry at all day?  He puts a plastic cone around the dog's neck, the "cone of shame" some have taken to calling it humorously.  Maybe we need one of those too.  Leave it alone.  If it takes picking at to make it bleed, it probably isn't that serious to begin with.
            Put an imaginary cone around your neck today.  Christ came to give us peace.  We will never have it until we stop all the picking.
 
Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. The things which ye both learned and received and heard and saw in me, these things do: and the God of peace shall be with you. (Phil 4:8-9).
 
Dene Ward

Keith noticed it first, a dove that sat quiet and almost still on the ground beneath one of the hanging bird feeders.  While other doves and a bevy of cardinals hopped around him pecking at the ground, then flying up and down from the feeder, he barely moved a foot in two hours, and always one small, hesitant hop at a time.  By late evening most of the other birds were gone, finished with their free supper and off to find a good roosting place for the night, but he still sat there.
            By then I was a little worried.  I grabbed the binoculars for a closer look.  He had puffed himself up twice his size as birds will do in the winter to keep warm.  But it was still early September and the humid evening air hovered in the upper 80s.  Suddenly his head popped up, stretching out his neck just a bit, and then immediately back into the folds of feathers around his shoulders.  As I continued to watch I noticed it every five minutes or so.  It almost looked like he had hiccups, but somehow I did not think that was the problem.  Something worse was happening.
            Near dusk he suddenly flew straight up to the feeder itself.  Instead of perching on the outer rung designed for a bird to curl its feet around and be able to lean forward to eat from the small trough that ran around the bottom of the feeder, he flew into the trough itself, hunched down, and leaned against the clear plastic wall of the feeder.  Then he became completely still—no more twitching or bouncing.  I watched until it was too dark to see any longer. 
            The next morning I went out with my pail of birdseed to refill all the feeders around the house.  There beneath the feeder lay the now much smaller body of the dove.  Sometime in the night he had died and fallen off the feeder.  We carefully disposed of the small body for the sake of the other birds and our Chloe just in case it had carried a contagious illness.  It was a sad moment.  I couldn’t help but think, “You weren’t alone, little guy.  We watched you and we cared.”
            We weren’t the only ones watching.  Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father, Matt 10:29.  God notices when every little bird falls to the ground.  And never forget the lesson Jesus draws from that:  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows, Matt 10:30-31.
            Dying alone has become a metaphor for a purposeless existence. “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone,” (Orson Welles).
            It’s used to depict life and death as a beginning and end that you cannot effect one way or the other.  “Don’t expect anyone to stick around.  You were born alone and you will die alone,” (Anonymous).
            It’s used as a desperate pitiful plea for someone to care:  “I just don’t want to die alone, that’s all.  That’s not too much to ask for, is it?  It would be nice to have someone care for me, for who I am, not about my wallet,” (Richard Pryor).
            It’s used to show the meaninglessness of life:  “At the end, we all die alone,” (Anonymous).
            Is it any wonder that skeptics and atheists commit suicide?  None of these things is true for a Christian. 
            For the LORD loves justice; he will not forsake his saints. They are preserved forever… Ps 37:28.
            Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you, Heb 13:5.
            Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go, Josh 1:9.
            Sometimes we can quote passages like these until we are blue in the face, but when the hour of trial comes, any sort of trial, and no one stands with us, we allow the physical eye to fool us into believing we are alone.  We need to learn to see with spiritual eyes like our Lord did:  Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me, John 16:32.  We are the only ones who can take that promise away—when we don’t believe it.  With God a believer is never alone no matter how much vacant space surrounds him.
            If God promised to watch for every fallen bird, He will watch for me.  Even if some day I breathe my last breath in an otherwise empty room, I can know that Someone cares enough to be nearby, watching and waiting to take me home.
 
Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints, Ps 116:15.
And I will gather you to your fathers…2 Chron 34:28.
 
Dene Ward

Did you know there are 336 species of hummingbird in the world?  The United States is home to 16, but Florida to only 3, and two of those, the black-chinned and the rufous, are rarely seen, and then only in the winter.  The ones who visit our feeders are all ruby-throated hummingbirds.  These little rascals are about three inches long and weigh about ¼ ounce.  Everyone loves hummingbirds.  "Widdle buhds," my grandson Judah called them when he was two, and, "Oh, so cute," all the adults say.  Well, guess what?  As a Smithsonian article I once read said, ounce for ounce, hummingbirds are the most vicious creatures on the planet.
            If you have ever watched a hummingbird feeder, you have seen the aggression.  And who can really blame them?  Their wings can beat 80 times a second and their hearts can beat 1000 times a minute.  They must eat every 30 minutes to get enough calories for that high metabolism. They have no down under their feathers, which helps them fly because they are so light, but it does little to keep their tiny bodies warm.   When they sleep at night, they are in danger of dying from starvation or cold, so their tiny bodies go into a state of torpor that slows their heartrate and lowers their body temperature.  And how many calories do they need?  Usually they take in 3-7 calories a day in nectar, which may not sound like much, but when you translate that to something the size of a human it is 155,000 calories a day.  We can easily see why they are so aggressive at feeders—it is literally a matter of life or death.
            They are especially aggressive in early spring when claiming territory.  Females are more aggressive in protecting the walnut-sized nest after she lays their eggs.  Then, as they prepare to migrate in the late summer and early fall they must put on 40% more of their total body weight to survive the trip, often as far south as Central America.  They will fly over the Gulf of Mexico rather than following the shore around it, 18-72 hours of nonstop flying over open water.  No wonder they do not want to share!
            A hummingbird's aggression increases by stages, depending upon the results he gets at each level.  First he will sit off to the side of the feeder, buzzing and chirping and squeaking, gradually increasing volume as the intruder feeds.  After that he will "posture."  He may flare his gorge, spread his wings or his crown, or point his sharp little bill like a sword.  If you see one diving at other birds on the feeder, he has moved on to the third level of aggression.  If you are in the middle of filling the feeder, or simply standing too close by, he may dive at you too.  If the dive does not get rid of the interloper, he will actively chase him away, following him for several yards to make sure he is gone.  And finally, when all else fails, hummingbirds will fight, and fight to the death, using their talons and beaks as deadly weapons.  On occasion ornithologists have actually found two dead hummingbirds, one dead with the other's bill through his body so far that the attacker could not extricate himself and died too.  See what I mean by "vicious?"
            But here is the thing:  hummingbirds are wired that way by their Creator.  It is the only way they can survive.  If somehow you could stand there and say to them, there is plenty for all of you and I promise to keep filling it up, none of them would understand.  It is the bird's job to survive in the ways he has been given and to see any intruder as someone who could cause his or his lady's death.  You simply cannot change the nature of a hummingbird, and no one would expect you too.
            We are not like that.  God expects change from us.  "But that's just the way I am," won't cut it with Him.  He knows who and what you are, and what you can and cannot do, and He has said from time immemorial that He expects us to change.  The word "repent" is found 105 times in the KJV Bible and that doesn't count the various forms of the word like "repentance."  And what does that word mean?  To put it simply, "change."  And it wasn't only the doom-saying prophets and so-called angry God of the Old Testament who said this.  "Except you repent, you shall all likewise perish," said Jesus, not once, but twice (Luke 13:3,5), and in other places as well.
            What did he say to the woman taken in adultery?  "Go your way and sin no more" (John 8:11).  Sounds like a change to me.  In fact, he constantly demanded such complete commitment (change) that many turned and left.  "Let the dead bury the dead."  "Go sell all you have."  "Hate your mother and your father."  Become "a eunuch for the kingdom's sake."  "Take up your cross [crucify yourself] and follow me."  Jesus never coddled anyone into the kingdom.
            So here is our question for the day.  Are you a wild creature who has no sense of right and wrong and therefore, no self-control and no self-determination?  Or are you created in the image of God, a creature who can not only know right from wrong, but can actually choose which one to do?  If you don't know, God does.
 
Or do you despise the riches of His kindness, restraint, and patience, not recognizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? But because of your hardness and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed. He will repay each one according to his works  (Rom 2:4-6).
 
Dene Ward

Retirement is a wonderful thing.  No more rushing around every morning, swallowing a quick breakfast whole, throwing on an outfit, and rushing out the door after a quick peck on your wife’s cheek.  At least that’s the way it was for Keith for several decades. 
            Now it’s a leisurely breakfast in your pajamas with a second cup of coffee, and then a third out on the carport, watching the birds swoop down in front of us to the bird feeder, hummingbirds battling over their feeder like tiny pilots in fighter planes, and Chloe sitting next to us, her tail swishing sparkly grains of sand over the concrete. 
           We have a little ritual with her—three or four doggie treats that Keith sails out toward the flower bed one at a time with her tearing after them, sniffing around in the grass until she finds the morsel, then rolling in the dew wet grass in doggy euphoria before returning to her post at our feet, or even under our chairs—the better to garner a belly rub.
            He always throws the treats in the same direction, slightly south of east, and makes the same whistle like a missile falling to the earth, and she has become habituated to the whole routine.  We did not realize how much until one morning he threw it north of east instead of south.  Even though she watched him do it, she still ran southeast and sniffed the ground in ever widening circles, becoming more and more frustrated when she could not find the treat.  Finally he had to get up and walk in the direction he threw it and call her over.  Eventually her nose found it, but you would have thought we had punished her as she dragged herself back without her customary cheerfulness, her tail sagging almost between her legs.  She was not happy again until he had thrown the next treat in the right direction—translation:  the one she expected.
            Have you ever shown a friend a scripture that teaches something obvious, only to have him say, “I can’t see that?”  Have you ever had her read something out loud only to answer your unspoken comment with, “But I don’t believe it that way?”  Almost unbelievable, isn’t it?  Don’t think for a minute that you are immune to the same failing.  What you can see, what you do believe, depends a whole lot on what you are looking for. 
            The worst thing you can do in your Bible study is go searching for something to back up what you already think.  In fact, I often tell brand new classes, “The biggest hindrance to learning is what you think you already know.”  I have had students who were intelligent and sincere look at something everyone else could see but not see it, and nearly every time it is because of some preconceived notion they grew up with or heard somewhere a long time ago and have not been able to let go.  Even something as plain as the nose on their faces.
            What you already know will also raise a stop sign in your learning path.  As soon as you find what you thought was there, you will stop looking, when just a little more study and uninhibited consideration would have shown you something brand new.  The same thing happens when you rely on old notes.  You will never see anything new until you rid yourself of old ideas.  You will never find a deeper understanding if you think you have already dredged as far as you can go.
            Jesus said, “For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind,” John 9:39.  He was not talking to unbelievers.  He was not talking to pagans.  He was talking to people who thought they knew God’s word inside out, who could quote whole books, who kept the law in the minutest detail, proud of how exact they were—even beyond exact—and the fact that they were children of Abraham.  Guess who that translates to today? 
            When was the last time you learned anything new?  Thought any new thoughts?  Discovered any new connections in the scriptures?  When was the last time you changed your mind about something?  Can you see it if it’s thrown in a direction you never thought of before, or are you as blind as those people who were sure they knew what their Messiah would look like and how he would act?  When he came out of left field, they were lost.  How about you?
 
…and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself…? Rom 2:19-21.
 
Dene Ward
 

Our blueberries have not been particularly bountiful the past few years.  I remember years when over the three or four weeks we were picking, I had enough for four or five pies, two or three dozen giant muffins, blueberry pancakes at least twice, and a dozen jars of jam, and still put fifteen full quarts of berries in the freezer for later use.  This year I didn’t have enough for one muffin.  If blueberries are antioxidants, we may start rusting soon.
            When the blueberries are thin I really hate sharing them with the birds.  It would not be so bad if the birds would pick one limb or even one bush out of the twelve we have.  But they flit around pecking a blueberry here and a blueberry there.  Once a bird has pecked a berry just once, it is useless to us.  Yet there is still enough in the one berry for several more pecks if the bird would only take them, and then he would not need to peck so many others!
            Satan does the same thing to us.  How many faults do you have?  How many weaknesses do you fight on a daily basis?  If you are a faithful Christian, maybe only a few by now, certainly less than when you started out.  But you know what?  Satan doesn’t need to totally ruin you.  He doesn’t need to turn you into evil personified.  All he needs to do is make you satisfied with just one little fault, only one little thing that you need to work on, because the fewer pecks he makes into your soul, the more likely you are to be satisfied with your progress.  You will look at yourself and say, “I’m doing pretty well.  This one little thing won’t hurt my soul.”  And so you give in, you make excuses, you say to yourself, “That’s just the way I am, and after all, it’s not that bad.  I haven’t killed anyone lately.”  This is not to minimize the need for grace, just the attitude that says, “I’m satisfied where I am.”
            So we become a bush full of pecked blueberries, too ruined for those around us to nourish their souls, but not ruined enough for us to think we really need to do something about it.  Is that why the church isn’t growing?  Is that why we no longer have any influence on our neighbors?  Is that why our children are falling away and the future looks so grim? 
            Pecked blueberries are useless.  When Satan sends a bird to peck at you, beat him off with a stick if you have to.  One peck can cost you your soul.
 
But when the righteous turns away from his righteousness and commits iniquity, and does according to the abominations that the wicked man does, shall he live?  None of his righteous deeds that he has done shall be remembered; in his trespass that he has trespassed, and in his sin which he has sinned he shall die…I have no pleasure in the death of him who dies, says the Lord.  Therefore turn and live, Ezekiel 18:24,32.
 
Dene Ward

When the boys were growing up, we raised chickens for a while.  I never would have guessed you could buy chicks mail order, but that is exactly what we did, and about two weeks later the postmaster called with the message, "I have a crate of little biddies up here for you."
            We kept them in a box on the porch for the first few weeks and learned to live with the constant background of high pitched peeping.  Finally they were big enough to place in the pen Keith constructed for them, complete with a straw-lined, raised henhouse, nesting boxes, and an old tub full of water.  They were not likely to run dry with that thing sitting out there.
            At the appropriate time, about four months later, the hens began to lay eggs.  Soon we were gathering about a dozen jumbo-plus sized brown eggs a day.  Huge bowls of eggs filled my refrigerator.  You can only make so many pound cakes, quiches, custards, and deviled eggs before the masses begin to revolt.  And only a couple of us really liked eggs for breakfast every day.  When the church folks found out we were drowning in eggs,  half a dozen families offered to buy a dozen every other week or so.  We asked fifty cents a dozen back then, and both sides were thrilled with the deal.
            The boys fed the chickens and gathered the eggs every day (and fought off the rooster, but that's another story and another lesson for another day).  And we all learned a lot about chickens. For one thing, I never expected to need to wash such filthy eggs.  Not all of them, but enough.  When Keith saw them he said, "Grandma always said that chickens are the only birds that will foul their own nests."  
            Even though we were rookies, we had done everything right.  The hens all laid their eggs in the nesting boxes, taking turns because there were more hens than boxes, which is normal.  But evidently, one of them was lazy, and instead of leaving the nesting box to roost in the evening, it would remain in the nesting box overnight.  And let's just say, chickens are not exactly potty-trained.  From what I have read, no other bird does such a thing.  Between that and the prevalence of salmonella on raw chicken meat, one wonders why chicken is considered such a healthy meat, and how it ever made the "clean" list for the Jews.
            Chickens may be the only birds that do such a thing, and since they are domesticated rather than wild, it seems especially surprising.  Some Christians do surprising things as well, especially considering their claim to be better than the average sinner. 
            Why in the world should we have to tell a Christian not to drink?  Why should we ever need to suggest to a Christian woman that she needs to cover up a little more of her body?  Why is it that my neighbor might say to me, "Since you are a Christian I know you would never watch such and such a movie," while I know that several of my brothers and sisters did watch it and even bragged about it on Facebook?  I could go on, but you get the point.  Some things should go without saying, yet the shame is that they can't.
            And so we foul our own nests (homes and churches) with impurities just as filthy as a chicken's.  God wants purity in our lives.  That is the only way we will ever be fit to live with a holy God forever.
 
Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.  (1John 3:2-3).
 
Dene Ward

It was a hot, sultry August morning in the year that was so unlike any other, at least in my lifetime.  The world had gone crazy and despite having to deal with all that, we still had the usual, and not so usual, mishaps and illnesses, pain and sorrows.  I walked Chloe around the property, both of us wilting despite our sun protection as the summer heat of Florida rolled down on us.  My shirt dripped sweat at the hem and my feet faltered here and there as the weight of this world added to the weight of the heat and humidity.
            When I reached the gate a hawk flew over the western field and landed in one of those ubiquitous North Florida pines.  He sat there even as I continued toward him down the hill, his call far more insistent than the normal predatory cry of a hawk.  When I reached his tree I stopped beneath where he still sat, calling stridently, and began talking to him.  He quieted and sat there as if listening intently.  I wondered, could it be?  Could this be one of the hawks we had "raised" here on the property?  Could it be the one who, after his older sister flew, sat lonely in his nest in the tree next to the garden where I could talk to him every spring morning as I worked, the one who followed me around for weeks after he had learned to fly himself?  Could it be the one whose nest tree was struck by lightning, whom we rescued from the ground before a fox, coyote, or bobcat could find him, and placed in a homemade moss-stuffed milk crate "nest" until his mother could find him and care for him?  Could it be one of the many others we simply talked to in their nests day after day before they matured enough to fly away?  Can red-shouldered hawks live that long, I wondered, and found out later that yes, they can.
            He stayed on his piney perch as I talked to him a bit longer that morning, but Chloe was becoming antsy to continue the walk (and find the shade), so I left and headed further downhill.  Immediately the hawk began crying out, so I turned once more and told him to be patient, I would be back for another lap very soon.  But wild creatures operate on instinct rather than patience, and he was gone when I returned.  Still I wondered about him being there and this odd behavior, and, as I cannot seem but do, found a lesson in him.  Maybe God was reminding me providentially through this creature of His that He still remembers me, even in this strangest of years, that His eye so high is still keen enough to see where I am and what I need, and that He can find me among the billions of souls on this fragile planet we inhabit.
            As I walked across the field, unreasonably hurt by the bird's perfectly normal absence when I returned, a large shadow flew over me with an impossibly wide wingspan.  And once again I was called to remember:  God is always there when life treats us badly, whether I see Him or not, and I can always hide in the shadow of His wings.
 
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till these calamities pass by. (Ps 57:1).

(If you would like to see other hawk stories, click on the category "Birds and Animals" on the right sidebar.)

Dene Ward