Last year we made a distressing discovery—the seam sealing tape on the rain fly to our tent had come loose.  Unfortunately, we made this discovery in the middle of the night during a driving rainstorm when water suddenly began pouring on us as we lay in our sleeping bags.

So before our latest camping trip, we pulled out the fly and set about resealing the tape.  We found out that not all the tape had come undone, just the places where more stress was put on the fly—at the staking points and over the top where it stretched tightly across the tent poles.  I suppose that makes sense.  After all, where is it that your pants are more likely to rip but where and when you stretch those seams the most?  In the back when you bend over.

That brought to mind the disciples’ request for the Lord to “Increase our faith.”  I had always thought of this as a simple request, sort of a “Help me get better” generic prayer.  Suddenly I thought to check the context.  Maybe there was a reason for the request, maybe those men were under some sort of stress.  So I looked up Luke 17:5 and checked the verses immediately ahead of that one.

Stress?  Jesus had just given them a laundry list of commands that would have stressed anyone out.

“Temptation is sure to come,” he begins in verse 1.  Not “may come” or even “will probably come,” but “sure to come.”  If ever a Christian feels stress it is during temptation.  Yes, I think I might need increased faith to handle those times. 

Then he goes on to talk about those who cause others to stumble.  I suppose nothing stresses me out more than worrying about how what I say or do may affect others, especially since I teach and write so much.  Yes, I need more faith to keep teaching and keep writing, especially when I receive negative reactions or hear of someone who misused what I have said, and even more when I realize I have made a careless word choice.

Then Jesus tells them to forgive, even if the same person does the same thing over and over and over and over.  This is where, in an almost comedic outcry, we hear them shout, “Lord!  Increase our faith!”  As often as those same men misunderstood and failed to comprehend Jesus’ teaching, they certainly understood the need for faith when it comes to mercy and forgiveness.  We really haven’t reached the pinnacle of that Divine trait until we can say, “I forgive you,” without adding or even thinking, “Again.”

Look up the other places where we are told to strengthen or increase or add to our faith and you will discover other areas of stress that could trip you up—times when divisions occur, when sinful desires rear their ugly heads, when we need to love the unlovable, when we are told to obey whether we understand it or not.  All of these things can create stress in our lives, and endanger our souls.

“Pay attention to yourselves,” Jesus told those men in the midst of his teaching (v 3).  Don’t be caught unawares in the middle of a storm.  “Increase your faith” and so be prepared. 

We ought always to give thanks to God for you, brothers, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of every one of you for one another is increasing. Therefore we ourselves boast about you in the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith in all your persecutions and in the afflictions that you are enduring. This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, that you may be considered worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering-- 2 Thessalonians 1:3-5.   

Dene Ward

Imagine for a minute that you are vacationing in a five star resort for which you have paid big money, more than you probably should have.  The flimsy shower curtain doesn’t quite reach side to side in the bathtub, the shower stream is thin and continues to drip after you turn it off.  The room is so cold you have to dress at the speed of light.  There is no television, telephone, refrigerator, or microwave, and the bed is hard.  No toiletries are offered, no room service, and you even have to carry your own linens with you.  How happy would you be?  You would probably not have lasted one night before you demanded your money back.

Campers put up with all of that, particularly tent campers, and they have a fine old time.  They understand going in what to expect, especially since they are paying a fraction of the amount of even a moderately priced motel.  Even when the weather is dismal, they seldom complain.  You take your chances when you live outdoors for a week.  Isn’t it interesting that the same circumstances can produce both happy people and unhappy people?

The only time we ever wrote a letter of complaint in 30 years of camping was last year.  Even campers in a state park campground have every right to expect a well-drained campsite.  When it rained our last night there, not only did the site not drain well, it collected water from all the surrounding sites.  We woke up in a pool of water.  The tent floor billowed up around us when we took a step.  At least it was waterproof, or the thousands of dollars worth of Keith’s hearing paraphernalia that we keep charging in the floor overnight (since there is no furniture in a tent) would have been ruined.

But we didn’t complain because of the rain.  We didn’t complain because it was cold enough for a foot high icicle to form under the water spigot.  We didn’t complain because the wind blew our light pole over, or the bathhouse only had two shower stalls for the whole campground.  That’s what you expect when you camp.  At least there was a bathhouse with hot running water and a heater in it!

It doesn’t take much to be a happy camper.  Maybe that’s why God has always warned his people about a life of ease.  Take care lest… when you have eaten and are full and have built good houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply and your silver and gold is multiplied and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the LORD your God…(Deuteronomy 8:11-14).

Our lives on this earth are often depicted as camping.  We are sojourners.  We are just passing through.  Or are we?  How much do we take for granted in these days of luxury?  Every so often I remind myself to thank God for the running water, for the electricity, for the air conditioning.  I have lost them often enough, and for long enough at times, to remember that they don’t just happen; they aren’t “inalienable rights”—they are blessings.

Ask people today what is on their list of necessities and it will scare you to death.  An easy life makes a soft people.  Self-discipline disappears.  The ability to endure hardship is practically non-existent.  Complaining becomes an art form, and my problems are always someone else’s fault.  The worst result is the pride that causes us to forget God, Prov 30:8,9.

The results of trials and afflictions, on the other hand, are good, Deut 8:15,16; Psa 126:5,6; 1 Pet 1:6-8; 4:13,14. They make us stronger; they remind us who is in control, and build our faith and dependence upon God.  They remind us of the love God has for his children.  I know, O Lord, that your rules are righteous, that in faithfulness you have afflicted me, Psa 119:75. 

A parent who never says no, who never makes his child earn anything with his own hard work, who always gets him out of trouble instead of allowing him to reap the consequences of his mistakes, is not a faithful, loving parent.  These things build character.  Wealth doesn’t.  Luxury doesn’t.  Anyone who “needs” that to be happy will never in this life be a happy camper.

As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life. 1 Timothy 6:17-19

Dene Ward

On a recent camping trip, we had one full day of rain. Twenty-three hours in a tent went faster than we had expected since we had taken books to read, crossword puzzles to do, and a Boggle game. But at supper time we needed more room and a table to cook on, so we carried our food and our propane stove under the shelter of an umbrella through the steady drizzle and down to the pavilion in that State Park to prepare our meal.

A nine year old girl pulled her bike into the shelter as the rain picked up. She talked for a few minutes, and then we asked her name.

“Grace,” she replied.

“”Hmmm,” began Keith, “that means full of mercy and compassion. Is that you?”

She gave a wry grin beyond her years and said, “I don’t think so.”

We talked awhile longer, and then she politely excused herself. Later I thought, “How incredibly honest.” Could I look at myself and give such an assessment without making qualifications and rationalizations? I doubt it. And woe to anyone who tries to do it for me. No grace to him!

But here is the irony—as an innocent child, this little girl Grace is a whole lot closer to the ideal of grace than I am. Yet as a child of the God who gives grace abundantly, I must strive the harder to emulate my Heavenly Father, giving grace to all I meet just as He does for us—even though, as the very definition of the word states, we do not deserve it.

Today let us all remember to be as generous as our Father, giving grace where none is due.

By grace are you saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God. Eph 2:8

Above all things be fervent in your love among yourselves, for love covers a multitude of sins…minister among yourselves as good stewards of the grace of God. I Pet 4:8, 10

Dene Ward

When Keith and I are hiking we don’t talk much.  He cannot hear me and I am too busy watching the trail, trying to figure out where to put my foot next.  Occasionally I stop and take a moment to look up, but for the most part all I see is the trail.  Keith is the one who sees the scenery.

Is that fair?  Of course it is.  I’ll tell you why.  While I am looking down, I am hearing the scenery:  the screaming of hawks, the whining call of the yellow-bellied sapsucker, the raucous laugh of the woodpecker and its beak pounding the trunk of a tree, the gentle susurration of leaves in the breeze and their nearly imperceptible fall to their fellows on the thickly padded forest floor, the buzz of deerflies,  the chirring of chipmunks and lower pitched chattering of squirrels, brooks gurgling in the hollows, small waterfalls splashing on rocks at the bottoms of slopes, the fog dripping off of the trees.  Keith cannot hear any of that.  If he doesn’t see it, he misses it. 

But then I also see a lot on the trail that he doesn’t see because he is looking up: a forest floor covered with bright yellow poplar leaves, orange-red persimmon leaves, deep red sumac leaves, and once, a leaf bigger than a platter; rocks of all shapes and sizes, quartz, granite, slate, mica, limestone; holes and burrows at the edge of the trail and just off to the side in hollow tree trunks; and once, a wasp digging a hole, laying its eggs, then burying another insect it had paralyzed with its venom on top of the eggs, so its young would have food to eat when they hatched.  Have you ever seen that?

Many years ago Keith and I used to joke that one day I would hear when someone knocked on the door and he would go see who it was.  That someday is getting closer and closer.  But over the years we have adapted.  We have adapted to things you probably never even thought about.  Do you talk at night after the lights are out?  We can’t.  Keith cannot hear anything without his hearing aids, and needs light to read my lips.  Do you banter back and forth while you work together?  No, Keith has to be closely watching my mouth to know what I am saying.  Do you call to one another from separate rooms in the house?  Well, you get the idea.  We have lived this way for so many years we don’t even give it a second thought any more.

On this past trip we had more things to adapt to.  I usually read the maps and navigate while he drives.  I cannot read a map any more without two or three magnifiers, and time to focus and concentrate.  This time we took out the map the night before we left.  Keith read the road numbers and cities, and I wrote them on a sheet of paper in large letters.  We made our trip just fine, and we always will.  You know what?  Other people have it just as rough, or even worse.

Do you remember that old hymn that goes, “Every day I’m camping toward Canaan’s happy land?”  Just like the Israelites, we live in a dangerous wilderness.  We never know what lies before us.  Anything can happen, and often does.  So life is about change.  It is about adapting to your circumstances.  If we ever think it is about us deciding how things will turn out, we will be sorely disappointed.  And if this life is so important that we let ourselves become miserable because it isn’t what we expected, have we really learned the lesson about priorities?  Do we really believe that it is not even a drop in the bucket compared to Eternity?  Is our faith so weak we must have everything perfect now (according to our definitions of perfection) in order to believe in a perfect Heaven? 

Things are not easy for the two of us.  We do have days when we wonder why all this has happened.  But we strive to remember that our lives are a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away, James 4:14.  These momentary problems will vanish as well.  I think James meant that to be a warning, but let it be a comfort to you as well.  Some day we will leave the wilderness and arrive in a Promised Land.  Everything will be better in the end.

Now I rejoice in the Lord greatly…for I have learned in whatever state I am to be content.  I know how to be abased and I know also how to abound; in everything and in all things have I learned the secret both to be filled and to be hungry, both to abound and to be in want:  I can do all things through him who strengthens me, Phil 4:10-13. 

Dene Ward

We have a saying:  “It’s all downhill from here,” meaning the hard part is over, and the rest is easy.  So this will surprise you:  walking a mountain trail is much more difficult going downhill than it is going uphill.  I know it does not make any sense, but every time we hike, we learn the lesson yet again. 

Going uphill will strain your hamstrings and Achilles tendons with every step.  Your pulse and respiration will rise.  But as long as you have the breath to, you can keep going at a steady clip.

Going downhill, however, will do a number on your quads—not just with each step, but constantly because even on a smooth slope they will be in continuous braking mode so that your speed does not get ahead of your feet.  Where nature has made steps in the form of boulders or tree roots, they never match your foot or leg length, and are as steep as the rungs of a ladder.  You wind up grabbing a tree to go one step at a time, sometimes backwards like a real ladder, or sitting on the rocks sliding down one at a time—unless you are as young and agile as a mountain goat.  Even then, one slip in a downhill run could see you topple head over heels for twenty or thirty feet which, by the way, would be the only way to make any real time going downhill.  If you slow to two miles per hour going uphill, you will be lucky to make one going down.

Satan will always get you when you least expect it.  When life is good, when trials are over—for today at least—and we let our guards down, we will get to going too fast, speaking faster than we can think, reacting faster than self-control can kick in.  And there we go, tumbling down the hill like Jill tumbling after Jack, who broke his “crown,” by the way.  And what will happen to ours?

So when life is easy, when suddenly the ascent levels out or even begins a downward slope, be careful.  You can still take a nasty fall that lasts longer than you would have ever imagined.

Now these things happened unto them by way of example, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages are come.  Wherefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall, 1 Cor 10:11, 12.

Dene Ward

THE LAND BEYOND THIS POINT IS WILDERNESS—TRAVEL WITH CAUTION

This sign greeted us as we headed out that morning.  On the board next to it were other warnings about bears, snakes, poisonous plants and insects, and one that said, “Between October 11 and May 1 hikers should wear bright colors.  Whistling is also recommended.”  Various hunting seasons began and ended during that period, bow hunting, black powder, rifle and shotgun, used during the various game seasons.

Still we hiked on.  We had seen all these warnings before in the many years we have camped and hiked.  The only dangerous game we’d ever seen was the back end of a black bear as he plodded steadily away from us—the best view of a bear there is in my opinion.  Still we were careful.

The wilderness can be a scary place if you are careless or arrogant.  Besides the bears, snakes, and panthers, paths follow the edges of steep precipices with no guardrails should you lose your footing.  Limbs litter them, having died, rotted, and fallen at a slight breeze.  Once one fell not ten seconds after I had walked that particular spot.  Runs drivel down the slopes, ready to rush into a flash flood should a rain come up, as it often does.  It does not take much to remind you how helpless you are.

Keith says that one of the Louis L’Amour westerns tells of travelers leaving piles of rocks to the Native American gods of the trail.  No one with an open mind can spend any time in the outdoors without recognizing that it took Divine Intelligence to create it.  Twice we passed piles of stones laid on boulders or stumps, a hundred or more, some carefully positioned on end, so they did not just happen to roll there.  Our society, I have heard, has gotten more spiritual as of late, but why has that spirituality turned toward paganism like the gods of the trail, instead of Jehovah God?  Is it more interesting, more fun?  Or is it that paganism carries no moral responsibility to its gods other than a token nod to their supposed existence?

Jehovah God expects certain behavior from us.  He requires our service.  He demands our lives.  And He deserves so much more. 

Some day soon take a walk in the wilderness, or even just your backyard, and let it teach you all about Him.

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hinder the truth in unrighteousness; because that which is known of God is manifest in them.  For the invisible things of him since the creation of the world are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even his everlasting power and divinity, that they may be without excuse; because that, knowing God, they glorified him not as God, neither gave thanks, but became vain in their reasoning, and their senseless heart was darkened.  Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for the likeness of an image of corruptible man, and of birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things.  Wherefore God gave them up…Rom 1:18-24

Dene Ward

Our hike took us to the top of a mountain and back, and several times over a creek or brook, none more than a foot or two deep, but plenty deep enough to get cold and wet if there had been no bridge.

The first bridge was a wooden plank affair with handrails, nothing fancy, but solidly constructed.  We walked across it without thinking about it one way or the other—it was a bridge, it filled the need.

The next “bridge” was a bit more challenging.  Large stones led across the brook and kept your feet dry as long as you kept your balance.  But the stones were solidly set and not slippery, so aside from having to think where to put your foot on each one, it was not too difficult.  Still, it did take some thought.

The next also had stepping stones, but these were wetter, which meant slicker, and one teetered when you put your weight on it.  If not for my trusty trekking poles, I would have had wet feet, if not something a bit larger wet as well.

Then came the fourth “bridge.”  Even Keith made a noise when he saw it up ahead.  The Georgia Department of Natural Resources had laid four logs across the brook.  Not flat planks, mind you, but rounded logs;  not large logs, but more like fence posts—small fence posts;  not tied together, but each about four inches apart, just far enough for a foot to slip through.  With my weak ankles and poor vision, they might just as well have asked me to walk a tightrope. 

Keith said, “Had you rather get wet?”

I did not dignify that with an answer.  I just started across—slowly sliding my feet an inch or two at a time.  Don’t tell me that the faster you go, the easier it is.  You are talking to a klutz, remember, a half-blind one at that!  Those seven or eight feet seemed more like seventy or eighty, but I only slipped once, and by then I was close enough to the other side that Keith could reach out and steady me. 

As we continued on I reflected on the fact that the “bridges” were getting less and less like real bridges, and was pondering what might come next.  One log that rolled as you walked?  I found myself praying, stepping stones please, even ones that teeter, but no more logs!

Funny how a hurdle you manage later in life makes the earlier ones seem so much smaller.  But which of us would begin weight training with a 200 pound weight or run a marathon the first time we ever jogged? 

Don’t you know that our Father is watching out for us?  A life without any trials would leave us weaklings.  But He is careful:  the first bridge we cross will make us strong enough for the second, and the second for the third, and so on throughout our lives.

As it turns out those four logs were the last bridge on our trail.  God knows which bridge is the most difficult we can manage at any given time.  Especially the last one.

There has no temptation taken you but such as man can bear; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that you are able, but will with the temptation make also the way of escape that you may be able to endure it, 1 Cor 10:13.

Dene Ward

The first day of our camping trip we warmed up with a one mile nature trail labeled “easy, a half hour walk.”  And it was.  The trail was wide and smooth, the grades so minimal you “stepped” up rather than climbing.  Many educational signs along the way gave you a natural respite as you stopped to read.  We were shocked when it ended so soon, and we—meaning me, mainly—had energy to spare.

So the next morning we set out on the trail labeled “moderate—four hours travel time.”  Either “moderate” has changed meaning or the past two years have taken more out of me than I thought.  Most of this trail ran either straight up or straight down, with stone “steps” matching the natural rise or drop of a six foot or more man, not a five-four or less woman.  Rocks and tree roots paved the way, except for a few places lined with slick wet leaves just begging for a big piece of cardboard so you could sled down them.  But for women my age, anything even resembling a fall is to be avoided at all costs no matter how much fun it might look like.

Three and a half hours later we emerged from the woods, puffing and panting.  Every muscle below waist level ached.  I hit the camp chair with an Aleve and a cold soda.  If this was their idea of moderate, I did not think I was quite up to the one labeled “strenuous, more than a full day’s hike.”

So why do I put myself through this?  I could give you a lot of answers.  After a hike like that, pure water tastes like nectar.  Food is delicious, even the simple fare cooked over a campfire.  Crawling into a warm sleeping bag is heaven and you sleep like the proverbial log.  When you stay busy and wear yourself out with it, you enjoy even the simplest pleasures far more, and griping about your lot in life is no longer even in your vocabulary, at least for a day.  I am sure you can make that application for yourself.

But also, I made up my mind several years ago that as long as I could, I would, because the longer you do, the longer you can.  I am trying now to apply that to everything, not just hiking.  It is one thing to grow old gracefully.  It is another to lie down and die at a time of my choosing instead of God’s, when there is plenty more for me to do, even if I must be a little creative and extra-observant to see it.  Growing old gracefully may mean that when you come steaming along behind me, I give you room to pass, but don’t expect me to completely step off the trail out of your way!

I find it unfortunate that the translators chose the word “talent” as in “The Parables of…” in Matthew 25.  It creates a mindset that has us deciding whether or not we are capable of doing things.  Those pieces of money do not represent “talents” as in abilities.  Jesus himself said the talents (money) were distributed “according as each had ability,” so they cannot be the same thing.  Those pieces of money represent opportunities.  God gives us opportunities according to our abilities.  He will not give us opportunities we do not have the ability to handle.  We have no right to say, “I don’t have the talent (ability) to take this opportunity.”  God knows we do or He would not have sent it.

The same is true as we age or become disabled, and grow physically weaker.  God may give us fewer opportunities, opportunities that are not as showy or public—like picking up the phone to call a shut-in, giving a word of encouragement, or simply being a consistent example of faith and endurance.  But whatever the opportunity, He expects us to take advantage of it.  God expects us all to live by this motto:  As long as I can, I do.     

And having gifts differing according to the grace that was given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of our faith; or serving, let us give ourselves to our service; or he who teaches to his teaching; or he who encourages to his encouraging, or he who gives let him do it with liberality; he who rules with diligence, he who shows mercy with cheerfulness, Rom 12: 6-8.

Dene Ward

We have just returned from the first “normal” camping trip we have been able to take in four years.  “Normal” means we camped in the mountains for five days and we hiked.  Those quotation marks mean we carried a pile of medications and a doctor’s letter explaining my problems, along with three cards detailing all the hardware in my eyes.  They also mean I was careful not to overdo it. 

Because of all this, Keith bought me a pair of trekking poles from an outfitter.  At first I thought he had spent an exorbitant amount of money for two sticks.  Then I used them.  With two repaired Achilles tendons and reduced vision, my usual klutziness on mountain trails has increased exponentially.  My ankles easily turn and twist on rocks and roots, and I trip over anything that sticks up even half an inch off the ground simply because I cannot see it.

But these poles made all the difference in the world.  The cork handles conform to your fingers with a knob that keeps them from sliding, and a flat top on which your thumb rests and from which you can help yourself with a little boost.  Two straps wrap around your wrists—if you somehow lose hold of a pole, you do not even need to bend over to pick it up.  With just a twist you can shorten or lengthen them, not just to suit your particular height, but whether you are going uphill or downhill as well.

I did not stumble once.  I did not twist either ankle.  Keith did not need to drag me up a single hill or catch me as I rolled down one.  And we made what was labeled a four hour hike in just three and a half.

I am not too proud to say I used trekking poles.  Should you make a habit of hiking even once or twice a year, you should get some too, especially if, like me, Grace is not your middle name.  It’s no shame to need a little help once in awhile.  In fact, I am told avid mountaineers who could hike rings around me backwards and blindfolded use these things.

So why are we so ashamed to ask for help spiritually?  Why is it such a big deal to admit we might be wrong about something or have a fault?  Why is advice from those who are more experienced seldom sought and even less often taken?  Why are we always letting our pride get in the way of our soul’s salvation?  Even the strong need a hand once in a while. 

Find yourself a pair of friendly poles to make the trek with you.  You will be glad you did, and much more likely to make the end of the trail.

Then came Amalek and fought with Israel in Rephidim.  And Moses said to Joshua, Choose us out men and go out, fight with Amalek; tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the rod of God in my hand.  So Joshua did as Moses had said to him and fought Amalek; and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill.  And it came to pass when Moses held up his hands that Israel prevailed, and when he let down his hands, Amalek prevailed.  But Moses’ hands grew weary; and they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat thereon, and Aaron and Hur held up his hands, the one on the one side and the other on the other side, and Moses’ hands were steady unto the going down of the sun.  And Joshua overwhelmed Amalek and his people…Exodus 17:8-13.

Dene Ward

We had just returned from a long camping weekend. We started camping only after I discovered tents that were completely self-enclosed.  Even the floor was sewn into the walls and ceiling.  Nothing could get in there but us!  For a city girl this was very important.  Our first tent was a hexagonal dome.  It was put out by a company called Camel, and the brown tent did look a little something like a camel’s hump.

            Most of the time, we would pack up to come home from a camping trip with the tent still wet from the morning’s dew.  That meant we had to set it up out in the sunny field once we got home to let it dry out.  We never bothered to stake it since it usually dried in under a half hour.  As it dried, one of us crawled inside with the portable vacuum to get all the dirt out as well.  My younger son Nathan was enjoying that chore once while I hung out sleeping bags and tarps to dry and air out.  A little breeze came up and suddenly I heard this little voice saying, “What’s going on?  Hey!  HELP!!!”  I looked up in time to see that self-contained, flat bottomed dome, rolling on its sides across the field in the wind, with my little boy evidently tumbling around inside—and from the sounds of it, not nearly as gracefully as a hamster on its wheel.

            Nathan blossomed late.  At that time he was about 11, still under 100 pounds, and only about 4 and a half feet tall.  Add to that the fact that the tent was not grounded with stakes, and you had someone ready to be easily tossed around in the wind.

            I cannot think of any better reminder to ground myself in the doctrine of Christ.  Too many people out there are willing to expound in beautiful moving words that sound good but which could easily upset my faith.  Too many times I rely on what I have always known, or on some brother I respect to tell me what to believe.  I sit in Bible classes sometimes and shake my head.  Whenever a certain topic comes up, I can almost always tell you who will say what, because few have bothered to look at things from a new perspective, to dig a little deeper, to ask questions, to even think it is all right to ask a question without being looked at skeptically.  Too many times I have visited women’s classes in other places and looked at the cotton candy lesson being studied, wondering if these empty calories are doing anyone’s soul any good at all.  We call them classes because we are supposed to study deeply and learn new things, not splash around in the shallow end of the pool with the children, trying not to get our hair wet.

            The only way to avoid confusion is to ask questions; the only way to grow—and we should all be growing, no matter how long we have been Christians--is to search the scriptures diligently; the only way to build a solid foundation is to learn how to study on my own; the only way to remain steadfast is to gain enough spiritual weight to stake down my tabernacle with stakes I have discovered myself, and hammered deeply into the ground.

Till we all attain unto the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a full-grown man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ; that we may be no longer children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the slight of men, in craftiness, after the wiles of error, but speaking truth in love, may grow up in all things into him, who is the head, even Christ. Eph 4:13-15.

Dene Ward