The way we camp now is considerably different than the way we started.  The first year, when the boys were 4 and 6, we left on a 10 day trip with two suitcases, one tent, a camp stove, a propane lantern, and a couple of pots stuffed into our car trunk.  What we have now fills the back of a camper-topped pickup to the brim.  When Lucas went with us for the first time in nearly 20 years, he smirked and said, “You guys don’t rough it.  You camp in style.”
            Yes, we put a screen over the table now so we can eat without bugs, and even in the rain.  We have a larger tent, and pull an extension cord in through one of the zipped windows to plug into an electric blanket and stuff it inside the double sleeping bag.  Since we camp in the fall and winter that only makes good sense.  So does the queen-size eighteen inch high air mattress—getting up off the ground is not so easy any more.
            Keith designed and rigged up a PVC-pipe light pole from which we hang a couple of trouble lights, and we sit in our outdoor lounge chairs by the fire now, instead of always at the table.  We carry a couple of wooden tray tables to hold our coffee cups and the books we are reading.
            We have two stoves now instead of just one, but since they are only two burner stoves and you run out of room when breakfast includes pancakes and sausage on a two burner griddle and a stovetop coffeepot, that has become a necessity too.  I also found a folding rack that hooks to the side of the picnic table to hold things like paper towels, antibacterial wipes, dishwashing liquid, and salt and pepper so we have more room on the table itself.
            Yes, we camp “in style” now, but I would still never leave my modest home to do it all the time.  Eight to ten days a year is fun because it is different, but every day would be a pain in the neck, especially considering the relative luxury I am used to.
            I think we miss the first, and huge, sacrifice Abraham and Sarah made.  Our arrogance tells us they were primitive people anyway, so what was the big deal when God called them?  Here is the big deal:  God called them out of Ur, a thriving metropolis for its time.  One book I read said the city had its own educational system and some form of running water. 
            Abraham was a wealthy man.  He had an entourage of servants that included an army of 318 trained men (Gen 14:14).  Whenever he arrived at a new place with his thousands of flocks and herds and hundreds of servants, the kings wanted to meet him.  Undoubtedly, they were anxious to know why he was there, and not a little afraid of the possible reason.  Especially in a small city-state like Gerar, Abimelech had reason to worry—Abraham’s army might actually have been bigger than his!  Imagine the home they must have lived in, and the status that wealthy couple must have enjoyed before they left Ur.
            Yet when God said go, Abraham and Sarah went.  They left a fine home in a then-modern city to wander in places they were only promised and often unwelcome.  I imagine they “camped in style” for the time, far better than the desert nomads because of their wealth, but it was still camping.  No more running water--even the kind they had back then--constantly subject to the weather, sand in your clothes and probably in your food if the wind blew wrong.  Can you imagine Bill Gates leaving his various homes to live in an RV for the rest of his life, much less a tent?  Do you think they would do it even if it were the best RV money could buy?  Even if he had a caravan of RVs behind him, holding his most important employees?  And especially if he had to do it in a foreign country less advanced than ours?
            I don’t see that happening.  Even with your less than Gates-esque dwelling, would you give up your own cozy bedroom, where you could walk a few steps to the bathroom in the middle of the night should you need to?  Where you could stay warm and dry regardless the weather?  Where you have places to store all your “stuff?”  Where you have a job and financial security, and a place in a community that accepts you?
            Abraham and Sarah had a long way to go in more ways than one when God called them.  Yet God saw in them a faith that would grow and a trust that would never give up.  He believed that with his tender cultivation, Abraham would become “the father of the faithful,” and Sarah the mother of all godly women and the “princess” through whom the King of kings would eventually be born.
            What do you think God sees in you?  Do you have that potential?  He thinks so or he never would have sent his Son to die for you.  Here is the test for today:  would he have even bothered to tell me to pick up and go, or am I too tied to this world and its luxuries?  He may never ask you to give it all up, but he must see in you a willingness to do so if the need arises. 
            If he does call and you go, God may allow you, like Abraham and Sarah, to camp in style, but it’s still camping.  He expects you to understand that the real home is ahead of you.
 
So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple. Luke 14:33
 
Dene Ward

Our last camping trip sent me home with legs chapped to a medium rare pink, an abrasion ring around both ankles from my trail shoes rubbing on the heavy wool socks, and dry, crackly lips and nostrils.  Did I say it was cold?  The rangers told us to leave the spigot dripping and the first morning we came out of tent to find a foot tall column of ice beneath it. 
            The forecast the week before did not prepare us for that weather.  It was only when we were on our way that it changed.  So why did we keep going rather than turning back?  Because if we hadn’t I would have missed waking to a couple of wrens serenading one another in the trees over our tent every morning.  I would never have marveled at a dry floodplain studded with knobby cypress knees, and carpeted in white rain lilies and patches of bright yellow marsh marigolds.  I never would have seen the family of deer traipsing through the woods ahead of us, then literally hightailing it off when they caught sight of our movements, white flag tails bouncing in the woodland shadows.
            Sometimes being a Christian, like camping, is filled with all sorts of trials, everything from the triviality of abrasion rings on the ankles to greater problems of becoming lost in the woods and wondering if you will find your way out before you freeze to death in the cold night.  But God tells us over and over that it is worth it.  You will never have the experiences you have as a Christian any other way.
            There is something almost magical about walking into a meetinghouse a thousand miles away from home and meeting people who instantly care about you and your problems.  Does anyone else in the world have this blessing?  Anywhere you go, you find people who will help you, even if they have never heard your name before.
            Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children…(Mar 10:29-30).
            Many times I have been made to feel uncomfortable, even disliked, because of my faith.  I haven’t yet experienced what we think of as full-blown persecution, but even small things can weigh on your mind and cause you to waver when they happen again and again.  Yet Christians are blessed with Divine help and comforting knowledge when that happens.
            So we can confidently say, "The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?" (Heb 13:6)
            And now as I grow older and face trying times I still have something that others do not.  How can they face serious illnesses thinking this is all there is?  How can they face the death of loved ones thinking they will never see them again?  How can they look death in the eye with dignity and grace when in their minds they will simply cease to exist?
            But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that fall asleep; that you sorrow not, even as the rest, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also that are fallen asleep in Jesus will God bring with him. (1Th 4:13-14)
            For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. But when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? The sting of death is sin; and the power of sin is the law: but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1Co 15:53-57)
            So yes, the trip was a little uncomfortable this time, especially when the rain started the morning we had to pack up and created a puddle two to four inches deep over half the campsite—including under the tent!  But we experienced plenty to offset the bad memories.  Far beyond that, if you remain faithful to God, I have no doubt that, regardless how unpleasant your life or your exit from it, when you wake up in eternal glory, you will shout from on high, “It was worth it!”
 
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory which shall be revealed to us (Rom 8:18).
 
Dene Ward
 

Our last camping trip was typical—it rained on Tuesday.  However, the rain came with a slight variation this time. 
            We managed to get through all the daylight hours with clear sunny skies as we tramped all over Lookout Mountain and Chickamauga battlefield.  In fact, if it had not been for the exorbitant parking meters, we could have made any of the 2-7 mile hikes featured on the brochure we picked up without getting wet.
            So we headed back to the campsite for grilled half-pound burgers, potato salad, and baked beans.  We even managed to wash the dishes and get our evening showers.  Then, as we sat by the fire, the lightning lit up the sky, silhouetting the trees around us.  Fifteen minutes later the first raindrop fell and we scampered into the screen tent to finish our evening at the picnic table, reading, studying for Bible classes, and doing crossword puzzles.
            The next morning the rain had stopped, but it was still gray and damp.  By afternoon the wind picked up and cooled off, but the front had not yet passed.  The gray skies continued and a mist, too heavy for sitting by the fire with a book, filled the air around us.  Once again we were relegated to the screen, and as we sat at the table in the cold, damp wind, we became more and more miserable.  Ordinarily, sitting by the fire will keep you warm enough, along with the several layers of clothing we pile on, but the mist made that solution impossible.  We were soon wrapped in blankets struggling to keep our minds on our studies.  Before long, we gave up and crawled into the tent and sleeping bags.  Finally we were warm enough.
            The next morning we woke to more gray skies, but after breakfast, the sun peeked through.  As I walked to the bathhouse to brush my teeth, I took a moment to look straight up between the treetops—a bright cerulean sky everywhere!  I did my own version of Snoopy’s happy dance, holding out my arms and twirling in a circle—yessssss!!!!
            Funny how such a simple thing can make you so happy.  I had been reduced to living at the mercy of nature instead of climate controlled technology, and had suddenly developed a deep appreciation for something as simple as a sunny day.  The temperatures plummeted that night, the coldest we had all week, but we were able to sit by a fire and appreciated it far more than we would have a hotel room because of what we had endured the night before.  In fact, when we got home, our humble dwelling seemed a palace.
            I have contemplated this phenomenon often, usually right after we return from a camping trip. Have we let our technologically advanced, richer-than-ever society spoil us to the appreciation of the necessities of life God has granted us?  Would anyone ever do a “happy dance” for a blue sky, or does it have to be a trip to Disneyworld, a new Mercedes, or a new gadget that keeps us from having to think too hard, organize our lives for ourselves, or pick up a phone book?
            The early Christians rejoiced in things we would complain about, or even lose our faith over.  For you had compassion on those in prison, and you joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one. Heb 10:34.  They therefore departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the Name. Acts 5:41.  Would we be able to do a happy dance about those things?
            Those Christians, very new Christians in fact, knew that trials were a good thing.  They made them stronger, they made priorities obvious, they made them notice and appreciate their blessings as they should.  Those people understood that sin never satisfies, that the sinner will only “wax worse and worse,” as he seeks to find joy in debauchery, selfishness, and the fulfillment of every lust.  But the joy of being in Christ will fulfill the soul no matter what is happening on the outside, no matter what the body must put up with, no matter the pain, suffering, or even death that awaits us.
            Have you done a happy dance lately?  Should I ask what made you so happy?  How long has that happiness lasted, and what other feelings did that “thing” eventually bring?  Sin, or even material things that are not necessarily sinful, will only satisfy for a moment.  Wouldn’t you like to be doing a happy dance forever?
 
Do you not know this from of old, since man was placed on earth, that the exulting of the wicked is short, and the joy of the godless but for a moment? He will fly away like a dream and not be found; he will be chased away like a vision of the night. Because he knew no contentment in his belly, he will not let anything in which he delights escape him. There was nothing left after he had eaten; therefore his prosperity will not endure. In the fullness of his sufficiency he will be in distress…The possessions of his house will be carried away, dragged off in the day of God's wrath. This is the wicked man's portion from God, the heritage decreed for him by God. Job 20: 4,5,8,20-22,28-29.
 
Dene Ward
 

I think maybe I have discovered something that will help me a lot.
            The best cup of coffee is not the four-dollar, imported-from-some-exotic-place, freshly roasted, even more freshly ground cup you get at that boutique coffee shop.  The best cup of coffee is the one you drink from a cracked ceramic cup in front of a campfire on a chilly morning, the smell of bacon mingling with the smoke from that same wood fire and the vapors of the coffee, maybe even a few drops of bitter oils floating on top of it because the propane camp stove is harder to control and sometimes the coffee comes just a little too close to a simmer.  When you are cold, nothing tastes better than something warm. 
            Even tomato soup from that red and white can tastes pretty good.  It doesn’t matter if the seasoning is not well-balanced (too much sugar and salt and little else).  It doesn’t matter if there is no complex depth of flavor, just candied tomatoes and tin can.  Those niggling little details make no difference to you at that moment.  It’s warm and you appreciate that.  If you have never been truly cold, so cold that your insides quiver and you can hardly make your hands work and keep your mind functioning, you have never tasted a truly good cup of coffee or a good bowl of soup, no matter how much either cost you, or how many gourmets raved about it.
            So why will that help me get through life?  Just think about this:  How do people who have a terrible disease, or who have experienced one calamity after the other, or who are unfairly oppressed for their beliefs, or who come within inches of death, still smile and laugh, still enjoy life and keep their faith?  Because when you have a REAL problem, suddenly you understand what is important.  You are able to find pleasure in the little things.  You can feel joy in watching a sunset.  You can find happiness in seeing children play.  You can experience contentment in even just one moment of normalcy. You can enjoy peace in the company of those who love you, even if they are not perfect.  Suddenly their imperfections become insignificant.
            I cannot think of any instance where griping is anything but a sign of ingratitude.  When we whine about the inconsequential things, when we complain about the traffic, the weather, the petty grievances against others and the annoyances of life, then maybe we need a catastrophe to wake us up to what really matters.  Sadly, that is often what it takes to get our priorities in order.  Some things are just more important than others but, just as it takes a nearly hypothermic person to enjoy what he might ordinarily consider a mediocre cup of coffee, it often takes a disaster to force us to recognize how blessed we truly are. 
            We could be even happier if we did not always have to learn that the hard way.
 
Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot.  Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil -- this is the gift of God.  For he will not much remember [brood about] the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart Eccl 5:18-20.
 
Dene Ward

A landmark is defined as an artificial or natural object or feature of a landscape that stands out, is visible from a distance, and helps establish one's location.  If ever a landmark does that it is the St Louis Arch.  Officially called the Gateway Arch as part of the Gateway Arch National Park, it stands 630 feet high along the banks of the Mississippi River.  It was designed by Eero Saarinen, begun on February 12, 1963, and completed on October 28, 1965.
            Also called, "The Gateway to the West," it was designed to memorialize the pioneers who traveled to and civilized the West, and to denote St Louis as their official jumping off point.  Other notable events are also commemorated in the entire park, which stretches to the Old Courthouse—brave explorers, women's rights, and civil rights among them.  The arch is the most visited tourist attraction in the world.  All in all, the St Louis Gateway Arch amply qualifies as a landmark.
          Landmarks are important.  When we go on a one week camping vacation, we always stay Saturday night in a hotel in the closest town we can find with a church.  There are seldom any groups of God’s people within 50 miles of a mountain campground, and many of these are small groups.  A couple of times Keith has even preached for them.
            One time we were returning to the same area two years in a row and he was able to make those preaching arrangements ahead of time.  We wanted to be sure we were on time so those poor brethren would not be frantic, but we had accidentally left the directions at home.  So we asked the hotel desk clerk to Google the church website for the address and meeting times.  When he did, all three of us were in for a surprise.
            He gave us the address then said, “6429?  I grew up at 6425 on the same street.  I know where that church is.  It’s two doors down from my dad.”
            Yet he had not recognized the “name.”  He did not know the service times, which were posted on the sign when we got there.  He didn’t know they had a website, though a large banner promoting it hung outside the building.  So much for the importance of “signs.”  He was in his mid-20s, had grown up practically next door, and knew none of those things.  Do you know why?  Because he didn’t know the names of any who assembled in that building.
            The building does not draw people.
            The sign does not draw people.
            The website does not draw people.
            All those things are for people who are already looking, many of whom even know what they are looking for--like Christians traveling through on vacation.  Since when is the mission of the church to make sure that traveling brethren can find us? 
            The gospel is what draws people, but as Paul asks in Romans 10:14, how shall they hear without a preacher?  Since we no longer have miracles to “confirm the word,” the world has to know us and know our lives before they will listen.
            It took me years to learn to talk about my wonderful brothers and sisters instead of just spouting scriptures or waiting for someone to ask me a Bible question.  I have invited many to services and to Bible studies, but forgot to tell them that being with these people was half the reason for going and in the beginning, it might be their main reason for wanting to come back.  And I forgot to tell them how much better my life was simply for allowing the Lord to lead my way.  I was too busy making sure I had some scriptures memorized for appropriate occasions and waiting for those circumstances to somehow pop up on their own.
            What does your meetinghouse mean to the neighborhood it sits in?  Do they know anything about you?  Even if all they think is, “Those people believe you have to follow the Bible exactly,” that’s better than nothing.  It means they have had contact with a person, not just a sign or a building.
            Don’t let your meetinghouse be nothing more than a landmark.  The church is supposed to show people the way.  “Go past the church and we are the second house on the right,” is not what the Lord had in mind.
 
 From you has sounded forth the word of the Lord, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith to God-ward is gone forth…1 Thes 1:8.   
The righteous is a guide to his neighbor…Prov 12:26.  
 
Dene Ward

We were hiking a mountain trail, sometimes straight up, sometimes straight down.  A babbling brook ran to our left at the bottom of a fifty foot ravine, making miniature waterfalls over rocks and roots long before we reached the larger and taller falls, weeping into a pool and running on down the hill.  As we made our way over another rise and around a bend, the leaf-strewn trail suddenly dipped and we found ourselves in a cypress swamp.  What?
            Oh yes, I remembered, we were not in the mountains after all; we were in Florida.  Yet it would have been easy to have fooled a person who had slept through the trip over rivers with names like Suwannee and Ocklockonee, traveling deep into the piney woods of the Big Bend, down to the swamplands.  If they had wakened in the campground on the ridge overlooking the river valley below, and walked the first mile of the path, they would have thought they were on the Appalachian Trail somewhere.
            But the sight of those huge cypresses, the bottoms of their trunks billowing like the folds of a skirt in the water, their knees standing two and three feet high around them, would have given pause.  Suddenly they would realize the shrubbery beneath the trees in the woods wasn’t rhododendron and mountain aster, but palmetto and needle palms.  The ground wasn’t hardwood leaf mold over rock, but pine straw matting over red or yellow clay and sand.  This is Florida—perhaps different from most other places in the state, but Florida nevertheless. 
            Where are you spiritually?  Are you where you think you are?  Or did you sleep through the first half of your life, and when your spirituality awakened, look around and at first glance think, “Yes, this is the right place,” when it was only a close facsimile?  Did you find yourself among people who seemed to be doing the right thing and so fail to take a really close look at your surroundings? 
            Why are you where you are?  Is it just because this is where Mom and Dad put you, or because you checked the map and stayed awake for the trip, knowing why you made which turns, and not only how to tell others to get here, but why they should be here with you?
            If you are in the mountains of Appalachia, you will need to look out for a few rattlesnakes and copperheads, but those are shy reptiles that will usually run if given the opportunity.  In a Florida swamp you will also need to watch out for cottonmouths and alligators.  Cottonmouths are notoriously aggressive—they will charge from cover, and then chase you.  And alligators move faster than anything that ungainly has a right to.  If you are wary of the wrong dangers, you are much more likely to be taken unawares. 
            God expects you to know where you are spiritually and why you are there.  He doesn’t want people who are where they are simply out of convenience and family tradition.  Where is the service in that? 
            He expects you to look out for the dangers that might surround you.  How can you be alert if the dangers you expect are not the ones in that area?
            And how will you ever find God if you are not where you thought you were?
 
From there you will seek the Lord your God and you will find Him if you search after Him with all your heart and with all your soul, Deut 4:29.
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

For those who have never tented, campgrounds have bathhouses. The people with RV’s or tow-campers also have a bathroom in those. But they often use the Bathhouse to avoid having to empty their sewage tanks.
 
Bathhouses are usually at reasonable intervals, each one serving a set number of sites. We have never preferred sites near the bathhouse since everyone in your loop walks past you several times a day—no privacy. But, this last one set a record. We camped in Black Rock Mountain, a state park on the Eastern Continental Divide. We had stayed there the past year and as our custom is, walked through and picked the best sites. Even the hosts said that our #21 was about the best, though they slightly preferred #16.
 
#21 is the highest site, a constant uphill walk, a steep incline.  Though we were a bit cramped with our huge tents (for comfort), we had a marvelous view every day of the mountains to the East and every night 3000ft straight down to sparkling city lights. It was situated so that a shoulder of the hillside protected us from the winds. But there was that hill to the bathhouse. You think, “No problem going down.” Hah! That shows your lack of experience. Walking down a steep hill stresses the muscles in a different way, but still leaves one sore. The climb up was difficult. The hill was about a 30 degree incline except in the steep spots (In some spots, even the rotund could have touched the ground by reaching downward only a few inches—it was right out in front of you.) I counted 140 left steps when going up. On level ground, you can tape measure my military correct paces at 30”. Correcting that due to the grade still leaves the uphill climb at 150 yards or more, several times a day.
 
I would carry Dene’s necessary bag down for her and wait to carry it back when we brushed our teeth morning and evening. I carried it down earlier in the evening for her shower and got the fire going and the coffee on and returned to carry it back (40 lbs penalty weight kept my pace down with hers).  Even so, sometimes we’d stop and catch a breath on the way back up (Of course, I was just being gentlemanly and courteous to wait for her).
 
Adds new meaning to, “I’m pressing on the upward way….”
 
Would we do it over, certainly. The good stuff is at the top. Views do not come cheap.
 
Breakfasts alternated between 1) bacon, eggs, biscuits. 2) sausage & pancakes 3) sausage gravy and leftover biscuits, and repeat. One day, fried apples by the fire for dessert—yes, dessert for breakfast.
 
I grilled over open coals from oak kindling for our evening meals—chicken, pork chops, steak with baked potatoes done in the coals, burgers, chopped sirloin, except for one night when we had spaghetti and another with sausage and peppers we packed from our garden.
 
Thanks to the hill, we gained little, very little, weight.
 
People want to reach goals without paying the price. Trying to be spiritually healthy without climbing the hill means you will just become a fat pew potato. Dene and I are often told, "I wish I had your Bible knowledge." We did not levitate to that site and the knowledge came step by painful step. Often, we paused for breath and wondered whether we would make it. People with strong faith usually climbed over some tough times, those who express tenderness and lovingkindness often got there by overcoming the same natural reactions that plague us all.
 
The quiet times, the good food and the view allowed us to "catch a gleam of glory bright." Who will pay the price to enter the narrow door without the glimpses of the hope that God has laid up for us in every beauty of life?
 
 "And someone said to Him, “Lord, are there just a few who are saved?” And He said to them, “STRIVE to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will SEEK to enter and will NOT be able. “Once the head of the house gets up and shuts the door, and you begin to stand outside and knock on the door, saying, ‘Lord, open up to us!’ then He will answer and say to you, ‘I do not know where you are from.’ “Then you will begin to say, ‘We ate and drank the Lord's Supper, and You were taught in our church’; " (Luke 13:23-26, modified, kw).
 
"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, " (Rom 5:3).
 
Keith Ward

A couple of times when I was young my family, together with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, shared the rent on a house in New Smyrna Beach for a week.  It was an ordinary cement block house, probably built in the 1940s, two bedrooms, one bath, a living room and kitchen.  What made it worth renting was its location—right on the beach, which was not nearly so crowded in those days.  Every morning we four girls were out building sand castles and playing tag with the waves, floating on the undulating water just past the sandbar or diving below to play shark attack on one another.  We all smelled of suntan lotion and seaweed, coconuts and salt, and only came in for lunch and an afternoon of card games and board games during the worst of the heat, and were back out again in the evening when the sea breeze cooled enough to give us a shiver after once again dunking ourselves in the brine.
            Our parents got the two bedrooms, but we girls didn’t mind sharing the floor in the small living room, the gray, white-streaked linoleum tiles covered with quilts, the floor beneath crunching with a little grit despite all the sweeping our mothers did every day.  You live on the beach, you WILL have sand.  At 8 I was the oldest and usually the last one asleep.  No air conditioning in those days meant the windows stayed open wide and I loved listening to the roar of the ocean.  Over and over and over, the steady pounding of the surf gave me a feeling of security.  I did not have to guess if the next wave would roll in; all I had to do was wait for it, and eventually it lulled me to sleep.
            Fast forward to a time thirty years later.  We were camping on Anastasia Island, a beach 60 miles further north.  The state campground was still small back then, only one section just a few feet off the dirt trail to the beach, acres of palmetto groves separating it from the bridge to the city streets of old St Augustine.  The boys had their own tent, and as we lay in ours once again I listened to the surf crashing onshore, just as it had all those years before.  Over and over, as steady as a ticking clock, as a piano teacher’s metronome, as a heartbeat on a hospital monitor.  All those years and it had not stopped.
            And then another twenty years passed and we two spent a weekend on Jekyll Island.  This time we were too far from the beach to hear it in the night, but after a wonderful meal at the Driftwood Bistro we stopped on the beach for a walk and there it was.  The wind whipped around our legs and plastered my hair across my face, gulls screamed over us in the waning light, and the waves were still coming in, again and again and again, just as they have since the dawn of time.  They never stop.  Some days they may be rougher than others.  Some days the sea may look almost calm.  But check the water’s edge and that lacy froth still creeps onshore in its never-ending cycle.
            Thus says the LORD, who gives the sun for light by day and the fixed order of the moon and the stars for light by night, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— the LORD of hosts is his name: ​“If this fixed order departs from before me, declares the LORD, then shall the offspring of Israel cease from being a nation before me forever.” Jer 31:35-36
            Jeremiah tells the people that God will restore his nation and establish a new covenant in the verses just preceding those, a covenant in which their sins will be “remembered no more.”  He uses the stability of the natural phenomena that God created as a guarantee of His promise.  Only if the sun stops rising, if the moon stops shining, if the waves stop rolling in, can you discount my promises, He says.  That guarantee counts for all of God’s promises.  He never changes, we are told.  He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, so yes, He will keep the promises He has made to us of redemption, of protection, of spiritual blessings and a final reward.
            Are you a little blue today?  Has your life been upended in a way you never expected, in a way you can hardly bear?  The sea God made is still roaring.  Those waves are still rolling in just as they have for generation after generation after generation.  The white caps you see are the same your parents saw and your grandparents and your great-grandparents on back to your earliest ancestors.  And God is still faithful to His people.  Close your eyes, listen to that perpetual roar, and breathe a little easier tonight.
 
I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— the LORD of hosts is his name. ​And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion, ‘You are my people.’” Isa 51:15-16
 
Dene Ward
 

About twenty years ago, we were camping in a Georgia State Park, one of our favorites actually, private sites, modern bathhouses, beautiful scenery, and great hiking trails.  Ah yes, the hiking trails…
            We decided one day to do the big trail—up a mountain and back down, seven miles total.  So we cooked a hearty breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and coffee, and took off after cleaning up and securing everything against the elements and the wild animals, about ten in the morning.  We carried water and some snacks, and the park map.  I am the navigator in the family, and usually the only one with a decent sense of direction.  We expected to be back in time for an early supper, about four in the afternoon.  With time to build a cook fire, we would be eating by five, and ready for it. 
            We made the top of the mountain about one, took a few minutes to enjoy the view, eat an apple and a handful of peanuts, then started down the other side.  The grade was steep, and we were soon following a trail of switchbacks, but sure we were still on the right path because of the red blazes the park had so thoughtfully sprayed on the trees every so often, and because every turn matched the map.  Keith, the one who is always looking for an easier way, looked down the hill to our left and saw yet another switchback.  “So let’s just take the shortcut down,” he said. 
            Having grown up on the side of a mountain in the Ozarks, he is much surer footed than this flatlander, but he assured me that I could hold on to his shoulders and he would lead the way down safely, and possibly save us a couple hundred yards.  So I agreed and willingly followed.  We must have cut down through half a dozen switchbacks before the path finally leveled out. 
            We walked on, and came to a fork in the road that was not on the map.  Hmmm.  This time he trusted me and my sense of direction, and off we went toward what I knew was south, and thus had to be the right way.  A little further on there was another unmapped fork so we took the same direction.  And then another, and another.  Somehow this did not seem right, and about then I realized that I had not seen a red blaze in a long time.  About four-thirty we came to the end of the road—literally.  Beyond it lay a fifty foot drop to a creek running full and loud. 
            Obviously, we had missed something somewhere, but I knew we had not gone the wrong overall direction—we had just wound up on the wrong path.  We tried retracing our trail, but going at it backwards through the many forks we had taken, confused even me.  We were about resigned to spending the night in the woods.  I was exhausted, it was late, and getting colder by the minute.  The sweater I had taken off and tied around my waist due to the heat of exercise would not do me much good when the nighttime temperatures hit the 40s.  I was determined not to panic, though.  I figured the last thing Keith needed was a hysterical woman on his hands.  Tomorrow we would get out--somehow. 
            Finally, he told me to sit and wait while he checked another fork in the road.  I didn’t tell him that it scared me to death—with his lousy sense of direction it might easily be the last time I ever saw him.  But not ten minutes later he came running back.  “I found power lines,” he said.  “They have to lead somewhere.” 
            So we followed them, and about thirty minutes later came out on a gravel road.  We followed the lines further and came to a house.  Keith knocked on the door and explained our situation.  The man was on his way to work the night shift at a local factory and would take us back to camp, “about fifteen miles from here,” he added.  “You’re the second couple in the last month to come out of those woods lost.”
            We got back to camp at nearly seven, exhausted and relieved, and ready to eat, shower, and hit the sleeping bags.  The next morning we drove to the top of the mountain, then checked out the trail going down, careful to stay on it, watch for blazes, and look at the map.  We were sure the park was at fault.  But no, at the end of the third or fourth switchback the trail and blazes led straight ahead and down the other side of the mountain.  When we had left the trail and cut through those switchbacks to what looked like the same trail, we had missed that and had wound up on a mountain bike trail, as yet unfinished, unmapped, and “un-blazed” by the color-coded spray paint.  The map was correct; we just did not follow it.  At that point we were not ready for another seven mile hike, but the next year we went back to that park and followed the trail carefully the whole way.  We got back about four-thirty and never once got lost because we stayed on the trail and followed the map!
            This one is easy, isn’t it?  God has given us a map.  It does not matter what things may look like--stay on the trail; follow the map!  You may see a trail to the side that seems like the same one.  Don’t take a shortcut that leads you from what you know is right.  If it is the same trail, you will get there eventually.  If it is not, you may never find your way back.  Always look for the blazes that the faithful who went ahead of you painted for you to follow.  You may think you have a great sense of direction—but if you get off track, that won’t keep you from getting lost.  Or being lost, which is what we are all trying to avoid. 
            Not only has God given you a map, He is out there Himself looking for you.  Don’t be proud; take advantage of the offer and follow His lead.  You will always make it home, no matter how far off the trail you have gotten.  The Trailblazer knows the way.
 
I will seek that which was lost, and will bring back that which was driven away, and will bind that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick… For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost, Ezek. 34:16; Luke 19:10.
 
Dene Ward
 

This one was written ten or twelve years ago.  I have since found it in several church bulletins, both paper ones and those online.  I think maybe it is the epitome of a "Golden Oldie."

About 20 years ago, we spent a long weekend camping in one of our north Florida parks.  It was cold that November, the coldest weather we had ever camped in, and I was busily trying to remember to pack enough cold weather clothes to keep us warm, especially for a night outdoors.  Unfortunately, I forgot the garment bag that held our Sunday clothes. 
            Not attending services that Sunday morning in the nearby town was not an option for us.  We raised our boys the way I was raised—on Sundays we went to the assembly of the saints, period.  No one ever even thought to say, “Will we attend today?”
            So we walked into the services that morning in jeans and flannel shirts.  We did not even have on our “best” jeans, because we learned early that camping could be a dirty, staining experience.  It was not quite so bad for the guys—one or two other men did not have on ties--but there I was, the only woman in the place without a dress and heels.  And without exception, the women looked at me, turned their heads, and walked away.  None of them ever did speak to me, even after Keith spoke knowledgeably in Bible class, and we obviously knew the hymns.  I tried not to be judgmental, but I kept wondering if they thought we were some poor, down and out family, who had stopped, “just to try to get some money.”  You know why?  Because I had thought the same thing in the past about others who looked like us. 
            I wanted to stand up and say, “My husband preached full time for ten years.  I teach Bible classes and have some Bible class literature in the bookstores.  My children can probably answer more Bible questions than you can!”  I wanted to rub their noses in the fact of their discrimination.  But I didn’t.  Instead, I pondered my own guilt, and wondered if I would have done any better.
            So take a minute and think about your own behavior on Sunday mornings.  Whom do you rush to greet?  Whom do you leave standing, feeling awkward and unwelcome?  Which ones may need the Lord the most?  In fact, which ones might the Lord himself have welcomed the most fervently?  Would we have stood with the Pharisees, rebuking him for eating with sinners?  And weren’t we, in our suits and ties, dresses and heels, once in the same condition?  And couldn’t we find ourselves there again, if we do not follow his example?
 
My brethren, hold not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.  For if there comes into your assembly a man with a gold ring, in fine clothing, and there comes in also a poor man in vile clothing, and you have regard to him who wears the fine clothing, and say, “Sit here in a good place,” and you say to the poor man, “Stand there,” or “Sit under my footstool,” do you not make distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?  Listen, my beloved brethren, did not God choose those who are poor as to the world to be rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he promised to them who loved him?  Howbeit, if you fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” you do well, but if you have respect of persons, you commit sin, being convicted by the law as transgressors.  For judgment is without mercy to him who shows no mercy, James 2:1-5,8-9,13.
 
Dene Ward