You would think that after well over ten years of watching these birds outside my window that I would have seen everything, but such is not the case.  I imagine I will still be sharing experiences with you for years to come.
            Take the latest.  Besides the trough outside my window, we also have two hanging feeders out in the yard, another on the corner of the field on the other side of the house, and two suet cages hanging by the window next to the trough.  The suet blocks in those cages get the most traffic in the cooler weather.  Suddenly, not just meat eaters (bug meat, this is) but also seed eaters who need more fat in the cold are thronging the things.  Access can be a problem.  With sparrows or wrens, several can and will hang onto the cages containing the suet all at one time, happily pecking away, share and share alike.  But larger birds take up too much room for that.  With a 4 by 4 inch block of suet, an 8 inch cardinal, or a 9 inch catbird, or a 10 inch blue jay have no room to share, even if they wanted to—which most of those varieties don't.
            Then there is the swing factor.  One cage is hooked to a tiny bar by a five inch chain, similar to a charm bracelet chain.  It sways back and forth a bit when a bird lands, takes off, or simply sits on the old TV antenna next to it and pecks at it, but the arc is fairly small and the swing barely noticeable.  The other one is hooked to a higher bar by a cord a good 2 feet long.  Now this one can really get to moving, both in a back and forth arc and also in rotation.
            The catbird loves suet, but he much prefers the cage on the short chain.  Devious me, when that one runs out, I leave it empty for a while and force the birds to use the one on the longer cord.  Otherwise it would never be eaten.  The first time that catbird landed on that cage it started turning like a merry-go-round.  He moved back a forth a bit, trying to counterbalance the rotation, but the more he moved, the faster it turned.  Finally, he became so upset that he started flapping his wings while still hanging on with his feet and before long the centrifugal force had nearly flung him off.  He flew away in self-defense.  But he does love that suet, so he keeps coming back.
            Yesterday he made a breakthrough.  He has finally learned that if he lands on it and stands totally still, it will eventually slow down enough for him to be able to lean over and peck the suet with very little sway factor or rotation.  He overcame his panic and let the laws of physics and gravity slow the turn simply by being still.  Can birds learn these things?  Well, I guess he learned something because we no longer break out in fits of laughter watching him rotate like a spinning top and somehow avoid being slung off into the azaleas.
            Sometimes we get just like that catbird.  Life starts throwing us around, flinging us back and forth, trying to completely throw us away from the very thing that can stabilize us and feed our souls—God.  If we just stop flailing about, stop going in all directions, stop trying to take care of things ourselves and just let God take control, many times the situations we find ourselves in will completely disappear, and the ones that don't will suddenly become more manageable.  I  know for myself that the very things that have kept me awake all night suddenly have simple solutions the next day when I just quit trying to control everything myself and hand them over to God.
            Back in the early 1960s a musical ran in London called "Stop the World I Want to Get Off."  It follows the life of a man who, every time something happened which he didn't like, cried out that title line.  In fact, the whole show stopped and he would talk to the audience about it.  The catbird, if he could have talked, might have said the same thing, and in the beginning did "get off" the suet cage, but he knew he needed that suet so he kept coming back and learned how to deal with it. 
            We can't get off the cage—or the world.  We have to learn, just like that catbird, how to cope, and we have a Father who will help us if we will only let Him.  So be still and let Him.
 
Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! ​The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. — Selah (Pause) (Ps 46:10-11)
 
Dene Ward

My big flower bed on the south side of the shed attracts butterflies by the score.  Every day I see both white and yellow sulfurs, tiny blue hairstreaks, huge brown and yellow swallowtails, and glorious orange monarchs and viceroys flitting from bloom to bloom.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the bloom stops and the butterfly begins amid all those big yellow black-eyed Susans, multicolored zinnias, and purple petunias. 
            But have you ever watched a butterfly?  If you and I decided to go somewhere the way a butterfly goes, it would take all day to get there.  We have a saying: “as the crow flies,” meaning a straight line course.  A butterfly couldn’t fly a straight line no matter how hard it tried—it would always fail the state trooper’s sobriety test.
            Some of us live our spiritual lives like butterflies.  We seem to think that waking up in the morning and allowing life to just “happen” is the way to go.  No wonder we don’t grow.  No wonder we fail again and again at the same temptations.  No wonder we don’t know more about the Word of God this year than last, and no wonder we can’t stand the trials of faith.
            Some folks think that going to church is the plan.  That’s why their neighbors would be surprised to find out they are Christians—Sunday is their only day of service.  Others refuse to acknowledge any weakness they need to work on.  It rankles their pride to admit they need to improve on anything, and because they won’t admit anything specific, they never do improve. 
            Some folks make their life decisions with no consideration at all for their spiritual health, or the good of the kingdom.  The stuff of this life matters the most, and only after that do they give the spiritual a thought, if at all, and it is to be dismissed if it means anything untoward for their physical comfort, convenience, status, or wealth. 
            The only plan they have for their children is their physical welfare—how they will do in school, where they will go to college, what career they will pursue.  They must get their schoolwork, but their parents don’t even know what they are studying in Bible classes, much less make sure they get their lessons.  It’s too much trouble to take them to spiritual gatherings of other young Christians.  And have you seen how much those camps cost?!  Probably less than a year’s worth of cell phone service and much less than the car they buy those same kids. 
            Where is the plan for this family’s spiritual growth?  Where is their devotion to a God they claim as Lord?  If their children do end up faithful, it will be in spite of these parents, not because of them.
            God expects us to have a plan.  The writer of the seventeenth psalm had one.  “I have purposed that my mouth will not transgress,” he says in verse 3, and then later, “I have avoided the ways of the violent, my steps have held fast to your paths,” (4b,5a).  He made a vow and he kept it.  He mapped his life out to stay away from evil and on the road to his Father.
            How are you doing as you fly through life—and it does fly, people!  Are you flitting here and there, around one bush and over another, out of the flower bed entirely once in awhile, then back in for a quick sip of nectar before heading off in whichever direction the wind blows?  Or do you have a plan, a map to get you past the pitfalls with as little danger as possible, to the necessary stops for revival and refreshing, but then straight back on the road to your next life?
            Do you know what the term social butterfly means?  It’s someone who flits from group to group.  Perhaps not so much now, but originally the term was one of ridicule.  I wonder what God would think of a spiritual butterfly who has no focus on the spiritual things of this life, but flits from one thing to other and always on a carnal whim rather than a spiritual one.  I wonder if He would decide that butterfly wouldn’t be able to appreciate an eternity of spiritual things either.

…And [Barnabas] exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith...  Acts 11:23,24.
 
Dene Ward

Have you ever seen a catbird take a bath?  I'll take that as a no, the looks I am imagining on your faces, that is.
            First let me introduce you.  He's a sleek, handsome fellow, slate gray, about 8 or 9 inches long.  A black cap perches on the crown of his head and down the back of his head, almost like a cropped mane.  His long tail has a rusty spot beneath it.  His lady friend looks the same, and they both mew like a cat, hence, the name.
            When this fellow decides he needs a bath, he plops himself into one of the water pans I put on top of the feeder posts.  Because of his size, he does better in the larger one, but I have also seen him in the one that is a good 3 inches smaller in diameter.  As large as he is, it's a wonder he doesn't fall out.  At first, he gives a little splash, then stops and looks around.  Then another splash.  Then another.  Finally, he begins in earnest, splashing so hard that the birds beneath him on the feeder get a shower while they eat.  Any sitting on the edge of the water pan run for cover.  Still he splashes.  As you watch from my seat in the house, it becomes impossible to see the bird for the amount of water splashing around him, and I know I will have to refill the pans immediately after he leaves.
            And then he stops.  You can almost see his little heart beating in that dark gray chest as he pants in recovery.  And he is soaking wet.  His feathers are plastered and dark against him, his black cap mussed and plastered as well.  When this bird has finished bathing, there is no doubt at all what he has been doing.  He is as wet as if he had immersed himself, even though the water was only a couple inches deep.
            That is exactly the way we need to immerse ourselves in our Christianity.  Going to church once a week won't do it.  Paying lip service to God won't do it.  We are expected to fill up on the Word every chance we get, talk about it, think about, study it, and espouse it when we can.  It should be second nature to mention God in our lives no matter who we are talking to.  We should be using our assemblies and other church functions as our excuse to miss worldly events, not the other way around.  In fact, we should be looking for other occasions to get together with Christians to study together and encourage one another.  That's what it means to be a disciple of Christ and a servant of the Lord.  That is the very definition of those words.  I should be so immersed in the Lord and His Word that I look as wet as a catbird to my friends, neighbors, and co-workers.  There should be no question in their minds exactly who I am because I not only claim it, I live it.  Always.
            Once upon a time you were immersed for the remission of your sins.  Now it's time for another immersion.  Do you need a bath today?
 
I have asked one thing from the LORD; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the LORD and seeking Him in His temple.  (Ps 27:4).
 
Dene Ward

We had a storm a few days ago.  That in itself is not unusual.  Summer afternoons in Florida often include thunderstorms that go as quickly as they come.  But it reminded me of one we had a few years back, when Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, was still alive.  It was not an ordinary storm. 
            You could hear it coming for about an hour, thunder in the distance, black clouds boiling in an increasing breeze that brought the smell of rain and ozone.  Finally the bottom fell out.  You could hardly see the bushes right outside the windows it was raining so hard.  Afterward, checks on the clock and the rain gauge would show that it rained 1.9 inches in 20 minutes.  Before long, we saw the fruit of Keith’s hours and hours of backbreaking labor, hauling dirt with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, creating a berm around the house.  It looked like we were on an island in the middle of a river, its strong current at least four inches deep as the water rushed down the slope, around the house, and toward the run to the east of us.  It would keep running nearly two hours after the rain stopped, and we drained just fine, but meanwhile I found myself humming, “The rains came down and the floods came up…”
            Suddenly lightning struck in the trees just across the fence to the north.  The clap was so loud I screamed, and even Keith, out in the shed without his hearing aids, heard it, and saw a ball of fire at the top of a pine at the same time.  He said Magdi shot out from her favorite place under the porch, eyes wide as saucers, circling here and there in the pouring rain looking for someplace safe.  He called her into the shed, normally a forbidden place, and petted her dripping and quivering sides until she calmed down.  We never saw Chloe until after the storm, but when we did, her tail was plastered down hard between her legs, the end of it curled up under her belly.  It didn’t come back up for two days.
            That reminded me of the Israelites’ reaction to God at Mt Sinai.  They were so terrified of the darkness, thunder, and lightning that they begged Moses that God would no longer speak to them.  I find Moses’ reply interesting:  Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you that you may not sin, Ex 20:20.
            I think that might just be our problem.  We aren’t afraid enough any more. 
            I can remember when a certain phrase was not only forbidden in polite society, it was certainly never said on television or radio.  It was considered “taking the Lord’s name in vain.”  Now I hear it all the time, even from children.  When ten-year-olds have an abbreviation for it in their text messages, “omg,” something has been lost in our reverence for God.
            The Word of God is called a book of myths, even by people who claim to live by it, even by some who claim to be its ministers.  Religious people are pictured in fiction and drama as bigots, fanatics, hypocrites or maniacs. God, Jesus, Satan, and the struggle against sin are used as comic foils by entertainers.  When I start thinking about how far we have gone down this road, it’s a wonder to me that lightning isn’t popping around us constantly.
            We, the people of God, have even taken the concept of “the fear of God” and watered it down to the point that it means nothing more than the respect we might show our own fathers.  Isaiah, when he had seen merely a vision of God said, Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts, 6:5.  Isaiah was feeling a whole lot more than simple respect.  If there was ever a time when he could overcome sin more easily, it was probably in the weeks and months after that vision. 
            I have a feeling that if we ever stood in the presence of God we would finally understand what the fear of God is all about.  Some day we will.  I just hope it is not too late.
 
Any one who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.  How much worse punishment, do you think, will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace?  For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine.  I will repay,” and again, “The Lord will judge his people.”  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Heb 10:28-31.
 
Dene Ward

I had to look twice to be sure.  The cardinal that flew up to the small azalea limb a foot or two off the ground was bright red with the black Zorro facemask and his crest stood up straight and true, but he had no tail feathers at all.
              I wondered what consequences that might bring, but did not have to wonder long.  He flew out to the first feeder, perhaps fifteen feet away.  He almost hit the ground as he began and just barely made it to the feeder's perch about three feet off the ground, flapping harder than I have ever seen a cardinal flap in order to make the last foot.  He managed to eat a few pecks, but one of the other birds flew at him and he just managed to get away before he fell, swooping barely above the ground to a spot beneath the largest azalea.  Obviously, flying was difficult for him.  The next time I saw him, he came at almost dark, when the other birds had left and he could eat in peace.  Still, he had trouble getting up to the seed, and ate most of the time what had spilled onto the ground beneath the feeder.
              So I looked it up.  Why do birds need tail feathers? I asked Google.  And, as it does these magical days, Google answered.  For lift and stability at take-off, for steering in flight, and for balance when perched.  Without a tail, flight distance would be reduced, they could not soar, and they would have less lift and agility.  All those things I saw as I watched that cardinal that day.  The information went on to say that some birds would be helpless.  Hummingbirds would crash and sea birds would splash.  Doesn't sound like too good an idea to have no tail.  Probably this little guy lost his in a territorial battle or perhaps to a predator who wound up with tail feather for dinner instead of cardinal meat.  So in one sense, I guess he was lucky.  But it certainly made his life more difficult and his future survival chances less. 
              I think it must be obvious that our tail feather, so to speak, is the Word of God.  What helps us steer our way through life's obstacles?  What keeps us balanced and steadfast when we must perch on a precarious limb?  What gives us a lift when we need it and the ability to soar?  When we ignore the Word, when we think a thirty minute sermon once a week is enough, we might as well pull out our tail feathers and try to make it on our own.  Even with those feathers, a baby bird has to learn to fly and often tumbles from its nest on the first try.  Without them, he has little hope.
              Trying to make it as a child of God while ignoring His communication with us is spiritual suicide.  If you want to soar high above the predator over longer distances, perch easily and safely to nourish your soul, and steer around the trees rather than smashing into them, make that Word a daily part of your life.  Otherwise you are no better, no safer, than a cardinal without a tail.
              I didn't see that cardinal today.  How long will we see you?
 
Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.  (Isa 40:30-31).
 
Dene Ward

It happens every year, April and August, that's when the snakes start moving.  In April, I am not sure if they are newly hatched and out to find their own territory, or if the warmer weather just has them moving again after the cold-blooded lethargy of winter.  In August, maybe they are looking for a hole to stay warm in during the upcoming winter.  Whatever the reason, that's when we see the most snakes around here, April and August, which my boys and I began calling "the A months" after we noticed the phenomenon many years ago.
              Yesterday I went out to fill the bird feeders.  I had walked right past them half a dozen times as I circled the property with Chloe and had no reason to suspect anything.  As soon as I stepped in the fallen seed directly beneath the feeder closest to the house, something moved.  I had seen absolutely nothing until then.  But crawling away from me as quickly as it could was a juvenile Something Snake.  It took a minute to register that it had a diamond pattern on its back and its head was wider than its neck.  By then it had found shelter at the base of an azalea, amid several two inch diameter limbs that formed a nice little hidey-hole. 
              I dropped my bucket of seed and ran around the house to where Keith was blowing leaves (a spring event in our area).  Even without his hearing aids, he knew the look and the run and came back with me.  With our own version of sign language I explained, and we were both almost certain we were talking about a rattler, one so small (18-20 inches) that it had no rattles yet.  He had picked up a two by two and sent me in for the .22 rifle and ratshot.  As he stomped around the bushes, I stood out from them with rifle cocked and ready.  Ask my boys—with a gun I am death on snakes.  Nothing came crawling out of the limbs or leaves, so he picked up his blower, a heavy-duty gasoline model that would make a small snake feel like it had been in a category 5 hurricane, and we went at it again.  Still no snake, so we were sure it had crawled away while I had run off looking for help.
              After lunch (dinner in the rural South) we were out to finish up the interrupted feeding.  As soon as Keith stepped up to that same spot of fallen seed under the feeder, another snake took off.  Both of us jumped back, but it was only a garter snake this time, bigger, but not dangerous, and helpful with rodent control.  We were instantly reminded about "the A months."  Neither one of us had seen either snake despite looking right at the ground.  God gave these creatures camouflage and it certainly works.  But today as I made my rounds, my eyes never left the ground.  My ears stayed open for scaly slithers through the leaves and warning rattles.  I may think I am on guard constantly, but now I am on guard in a much more careful way than before.
              We need to beware of "the A months" in our lives.  We have already been bitten by the Snake, but he is still out there waiting to pump even more venom into our hearts at every opportunity.  So what are our "A months?"  Maybe it's one of those days when the traffic is particularly bad, you have a flat tire, and then spill coffee on yourself before you even get to work at a job where the boss is imperious and your colleagues unfriendly.  Maybe it's an illness that has you ready to nurture your grouchiness instead of trying to put it aside.  Or maybe the kids are especially loud while you are dealing with a headache and an air conditioner that's on the blink in mid-July.  Whatever it is, be aware.  Don't let the snake hiding in the grass get hold of you.  Carry a two by two or even a rifle.  Do whatever you must to avoid the danger. 
              We wish we had managed to find that baby rattler.  I am happy that he left our yard, but he is still out there in the nearby woods where he can find a mate and make even more of them.  The more times you beat the devil, the more times he will leave you alone, at least for a while, but if you let him win, he will come back the more often.
              It's an "A month" out there—for the rest of your life.  Be careful.
 
Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you…  (Jas 4:7-8).
 
Dene Ward

We have had a cat more often than not in the past twenty years.  All of them were pretty good about doing their work, as most barn cats are—it comes naturally to them to keep the rodents out of the feed sacks.  But because they are outdoor cats, they do not have quite the same affinity for human contact as house cats.  In fact, it seems that the less they have to do with us, the better they do their job.
            So when it comes time to take this sort of cat to the vet for its shots and check-ups, the process is a real adventure.  I remember once, when we put the cat in a box we had carefully aerated, drove 20 miles to the vet, opened the box and there was no cat.  We drove back home and found her sitting on the steps, licking her paws, and looking at us with a look of disdain.  “Where have you been?” she seemed to be saying with a smirk.  We still don’t know how she got out.  Her name was Jezebel.  Maybe that explains it.
            When we got Jasper we invested in a carrier.  The first time I used it, I discovered that this was still not going to be easy.  I sat on the porch and called him.  He inched his way forward and I just held out my hand until he finally relaxed and let me pet him.  After a minute or so, I picked him up and tried to put him in the crate. Immediately, all four sets of claws sprang out and grasped the edges of the opening.  It looked like a cartoon as I tried pushing him in while he hung on to the doorframe for dear life.  No way was this cat going in there willingly.
            Then I got smart, I thought, and put some food in the carrier.  Jasper smelled it immediately, and stuck his head inside.  I waited patiently as more and more of him disappeared into the box, then quickly shut the door; but somehow in that tiny space, he managed to turn around and slip out before I could get the clasp fastened. 
            By then, he was getting suspicious.  He was too leery to even come near me, so I waited a bit.  About a half hour later I grabbed a towel and laid it on the porch floor next to me.  By then, he was feeling generous again and sauntered up to me for a scratch.  After a few minutes, he lay next to me on the towel.  With a quick motion, I flipped the towel over his whole body and dumped him unceremoniously into the upended carrier,  The little bit of time it took for him to get his claws out of the towel gave me enough time to shut the door without him escaping.  Finally we went to the vet.
            Wouldn’t you know it, when we got to the vet, he wouldn’t come out of the carrier?  The vet had to dump him out.  And when she was finished with him and let him go, he scrambled back in as fast as he could.  Little stinker.
            In spite of his unwillingness to go to the vet, it kept him healthy.  The shots still worked, even though he really didn’t want them.  It doesn’t work that way with righteousness.  You can do things that look like righteousness all day long, but if you are doing them from a bad heart, they won’t do a thing for your soul.
            We seem to have a mistaken idea about the Old Law, that all they had to do were “right things,” and that their hearts did not matter.  Yet over and over you find instances where the heart most certainly did matter.  Take from among you an offering unto Jehovah; whosoever is of a willing heart, let him bring it, Ex 35:5.  That is just one example among many.
            Doesn’t it mean more to you that Lord offered himself for us willingly?  No one takes [my life] away from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. John 10:18.  How much would it mean in terms of love if he had done it because he was forced to? 
            That is how God looks at us too.  How much more does it mean to you when your child brings you a wildflower he picked in the field “just because” than when he sends that expensive arrangement on Mother’s Day, a day when the world practically forces it on him?  A buttercup on a Tuesday is far superior to a dozen roses the second Sunday in May.
            God will not force us to obey him, much less love him.  He has never accepted the letter of the law without the heart.
 
And you, Solomon my son, know the God of your father and serve him with a whole heart and with a willing mind, for the LORD searches all hearts and understands every plan and thought.  If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will cast you off forever, 1 Chron 28:9.
 
Dene Ward

Our last two dogs are the only purebreds we have ever had—Australian cattle dogs.  Not Australian shepherds—different breed altogether—but cattle dogs, often called heelers.  As is usually the case with purebreds, they had a few health issues that ordinary dogs (mutts) do not have.  Chloe, for example, has rampant allergies.
              At least twice a year for a good three months at the time, she wakens in the morning with a stuffy, runny nose.  I have already written about how disgusting it can be to see what looks like two strands of spaghetti hanging out of a dog's nose.  She has learned to "wipe" her nose every morning on the grass, but that only gets rid of the worst of it and before long she looks like a toddler with a bad cold—a wet, shiny spot under her nose that she can even blow bubbles in. 
              Because of that, her sense of smell is not so hot.  We throw treats for her in the morning and often have to get up and help her find them.  Even those loud-smelling things that look like bacon strips are difficult for her to sniff up.  I have seen her step right over a snake when all of our other dogs have smelled them a good five feet away and either gone into a point or a crouch, ready to save their masters from the big, bad boogie-creature.  But not Chloe.  Whoever heard of a dog with no sense of smell?
              And whoever heard of a Christian who has no sense of right?  Whoever heard of someone who claims to be a child of God but does not understand purity and holiness in his life?
              As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.”  (1Pet 1:14-16)  Peter seems to expect that we will want to emulate our Father, just as small children like to wear their daddy's shoes and put on his hats, only in this case we emulate His holiness.
              Paul lists in 2 Corinthians 6 the promises we have as children of God and finishes it up with a great motivational passage:  Since we have these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from every defilement of body and spirit, bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God.  "Let's cleanse ourselves," he says, as if it is something we should all want to do.  (2Cor 7:1)  We are ungrateful children when we do not grow in our holiness and purity.
              And then, of course, Peter gives us the ultimate in motivation in these words:  Since all these things are thus to be dissolved, what sort of people ought you to be in lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set on fire and dissolved, and the heavenly bodies will melt as they burn! (2Pet 3:11-12)  If the positive won't work, the glorious promise of His welcoming us as His children (2 Cor 6:17, 18), perhaps the fear of punishment will do the trick!
              I have heard people say that we need to learn how to be holy and pure and righteous.  Really?  Just ask your neighbors what a Christian should and should not do, how they should talk and dress, what sort of entertainment they ought not to participate in.  Seems that even the godless know more than some of my brothers and sisters.  If nothing else, look at the godly people who sit around you on Sunday morning.  What do those women wear?  How do those men talk?  Do they stop at the bar for a drink after work?  Do they watch smut on TV?  It is not that hard to figure out what is and is not holy and pure behavior.
              Whoever heard of a Christian who doesn't live a life of purity and holiness?  Whoever heard of a child of God with no sense of right?  Chloe can't help having no sense of smell.  We don't have her excuse.
 
For My people are fools; they do not know Me. They are foolish children, without understanding. They are skilled in doing what is evil, but they do not know how to do what is good. (Jer 4:22)
 
Dene Ward

We have two wild turkeys coming to the feeder these days, a brand new development.  We knew they were out there in the woods—you can here the toms gobbling and the hens clucking early in the morning and in the first hours of dusk.  Then last fall we saw four traipsing across our garden in the middle of the day.  A young visitor that day heard Keith and her father talking about “turkey season,” and I heard her whispering, “Run turkeys!  Run!”  And they did.
              Then in the middle of winter one morning I looked out and there stood a turkey hen under the south feeder pecking at the fallen birdseed.  She visited every day for awhile and eventually found her way around the house to the other two feeders.  Gradually she became used to us, and now we can go out on one side of the house without her leaving the opposite side at a “turkey trot.”  She will even let us move by the window inside, where she can see us clearly, without running away.
              Then one afternoon there she was again, only she looked a little different, didn’t she?  Maybe her neck was thicker we said, and then one of us moved in our chairs and she ran down the trellis bed and actually flew over the fence.  Turkeys do not like to fly, so she must have been terrified.  That’s when we put two and two together and realized we now had two turkeys, one with a thinner neck who has learned that we won’t bother her, and one with a thicker neck who still thinks we are some sort of predator out to get her.  Isn’t it odd that it’s the skinnier turkey that is the least frightened?
              That is an apt metaphor for the people of Israel.  They were the country with the skinniest neck, yet throughout their history they routed huge armies or saw them turned back by “circumstances.”  They watched God’s power work when no other country their size, nor even some larger, could withstand the enemy.  But despite that ongoing evidence, only a few learned to depend upon God, only a few saw the chariots of the Lord on the hilltops around them (2 Kings 6:12-18).  Only a few of them had faith and courage like this:
              And Asa cried to the LORD his God, “O LORD, there is none like you to help, between the mighty and the weak. Help us, O LORD our God, for we rely on you, 2 Chron 14:11.
              Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God. They collapse and fall, but we rise and stand upright, Psa 20:7,8.
              Eventually there weren’t enough faithful to save them from destruction.  Eventually God had to remove the ones He thought had some potential and send the prophets to ready them for a return, but even then only a small remnant came back.  Many of them were still frightened turkeys, and they were well aware of how skinny their necks were.
              Learn the lesson those people didn’t.  God has given you evidence every day of your life that He is with you.  If you think otherwise, you just haven’t noticed.  Trials in your life are not an indication that He is not with you.  Paul told the Romans that “tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, or sword,” none of those could separate us from the love of Christ--not that they would never happen! 
              Be ready to stand against whatever army Satan throws at you, knowing that ​the chariots of God are twice ten thousand, thousands upon thousands; [and] the Lord is among them, Psa 68:17.                                                                                      
Dene Ward

We were standing on the carport one evening when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.  I turned just in time to push Keith out of the path of a garter snake determinedly chugging his way up the slope to the concrete slab.  We called the dogs off and allowed him to meander under the mower and off the edge of the pad to the cool darkness under the porch.  A few days later he made another appearance and we discovered his home when he wriggled away—the hollow pipes supporting the metal roofing of the carport.
            I have come a long way in 35 years--from a city girl who screamed and ran from a foot long, pencil-thin, bright green garden snake to a country woman who understands the value of a snake on the property—God’s original mousetrap.  I will never be a snake lover.  I went out one afternoon and found him stretched out at the foot of my lounge chair.  I got the broom and shooed him back into his pipe.  My dogs can sit at my feet and have their heads scratched, but with Mr. Snake it is only a matter of “live and let live.”
            Too many times we take that attitude with Satan.  Yes, he is out there every day.  Sometimes we even bump elbows in passing, but we don’t have to stop and politely say, “Excuse me.”  Don’t give him a cool spot on the carport and an idle belly rub with your bare toes.
            If this garter snake were one of the four poisonous varieties we have in this area—all of which we have seen on our land—he would not be tolerated.  Although my guys may tell funny stories about me and snakes, they cannot deny that I know how to make like Annie Oakley when a bad one comes along.  I have killed them with a shotgun, a .22 rifle, and a .22 pistol.  I have killed them with rat shot and buckshot.  When necessary I have used a shovel.  I have lost count of how many poisonous snakes I have killed.  They get fewer every year.
            How are we doing with Satan?  Does he think his presence is tolerated, even welcome?  Or does he know that it’s dangerous to be around us?  He is fighting a losing battle and he knows it, but that won’t keep his poison from killing us if we allow him to get too close.
 
Do not give opportunity to the Devil, Eph 4:27.
 
Dene Ward