All of a sudden, my mother can no longer take care of herself.  As with most things, I am sure it was a gradual process, one we had missed seeing until it became impossible not to.  So in the past few weeks we have moved her to assisted living, a clean, safe, and pleasant place with more than adequate care.  That has meant going through her things item by item, photograph by photograph, sheet of paper by sheet of paper—more than 10,000 sheets, I am sure.  It has meant copying power of attorney documents again and again, faxing to mysterious phone numbers, trying to get through phone banks with half-forgotten passwords and codes, signing paper after paper and check after check.  The stress was worse than the work, I think, but finally the worst seems to be over.

              I looked at Keith and said, "We need to start thinking about this ourselves.  If we don't need it, throw it away.  If it will not be important to our kids, toss it.  Don't buy any more of something we have plenty of, and if it's broken and we don't get around to mending it or repairing it within a few months, put it in the trash."  What we have thrown away in the past three months would have filled half a dozen dumpsters.  Our burn barrel has worked overtime on items with confidential information that are far past the need for keeping.  Do we really need all three versions of my mother's will or just the most recent?  I think the answer to that is pretty obvious.  Let's not put our children through this.

              Instead, let's look at what we have that is valuable, that would mean something to them, that might actually make their lives easier, and take better care of those things.  Let's make sure they are legible, neat, and filed in an obvious place.  If I expect them to want any of my cookbooks, let me make the notes in them useful and understandable.  If they want my piano music, let's make sure it is filed in alphabetical order and that torn pages are carefully taped back together.  Let's write the names and dates on the backs of photographs, and the names of the givers inside gift books.  Let's keep owners' manuals in an appropriate place and never leave them outside where the weather might destroy them.  And we could go on and on.

              All of these are good, but here is something much more important:  look at your family today and make a judgment about the spiritual state you are leaving them in.  If your children are in high school and still don't know how to sort their laundry or put gas in the car, most people would consider you a poor parent.  But if they are in high school and cannot carry on an intelligible conversation about several spiritual matters, including pertinent scriptures, "poor" wouldn't come close to describing your parenting skills.  It is not only your job to make them ready for life, it is your job to prepare them for spiritual success as well.

              They should be "in training" as apprentice Christians, memorizing scriptures, reading and discussing during family time the meaning of their studies, accompanying you when you visit and when you serve, cooking for others, cleaning for others, handling the yard work for widows or older couples who no longer can (perhaps for their own grandparents), and doing all those things you do as a Christian so they will be able to take over seamlessly when the time comes.

              Let's not leave out churches.  We should be looking around and imagining the congregation ten, fifteen, twenty years from now.  Who will do the teaching?  Who will serve as deacons and elders?  Are you preparing anyone at all?

              I am afraid that too many churches will dry up on the vine when the present crop of older heads dies off.  Others will wander off into some sort of sectarianism, drifting from the teachings of the New Testament until they no longer even resemble the church Christ died for because we have forgotten to teach them "Why."

              Every generation must look around and prepare for these things, and hope it isn't already too late.
 
…I seek not yours, but you: for the children ought not to lay up for the parents, but the parents for the children. 2Cor12:14

Dene Ward

When Silas came to stay all by himself for the first time, we were not sure how he would handle being away from Mommy and Daddy.  Especially since we were over two hours away, it would have been impossible to get him back home quickly if he were too homesick to last.  He was still three, barely, and, though he had stayed alone with us the night Judah was born, and the night after as well, that was at his own home and he slept in his own bed.

              We managed to keep him talking about happy things all the way home, deeper and deeper into the “dark, spooky woods” as he later called it.  It was after nine o’clock at night and, if you have never experienced it, there is nothing quite as dark as “country dark”—away from the streetlights, traffic lights, parking lot lights, and neon signs of the city.  Only once or twice did he stray into the dangerous territory of “Where will I sleep tonight?” in a pensive tone of voice.

              “We’re here!” we shouted as we pulled up to the gate, wondering aloud in excited voices if Chloe would come to meet us.  That kept him happy as we pulled into the carport and unfastened his booster seat straps.  Then, just as we walked toward the back porch, an owl screamed not fifty feet away, sounding every bit like a hysterical woman, followed by a “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha” before finally settling into its usual “Who-hoo.” Silas was up those steps in a flash, plastered next to his grandfather’s leg and looking over his shoulders with eyes as big as Frisbees.  How could I tell in the dark?  Even in the dim starlight I could see white all the way around those big blue irises.

              “Uh-oh,” I thought.  “He will be terrified for the rest of the night.”  Luckily Grandma had made some ooey-gooey chocolate cookies and that took care of the problem.  That first impression, which could have ruined the entire stay, was fairly easily overcome, but I think it often is for children.  It’s the adults among us who hang on to them.

              And that brings me to today’s point.  We all know that old saying, “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”  I wish we could remember that all the time, not just when we are meeting someone we hope to impress for our own selfish interests.  Everyone who comes into contact with us, anywhere and any time, is a soul we might be able to save.  What if that first impression you make is the only impression you will ever make?

              I try to remind myself of that when I have a bad experience at a store or in a restaurant.  If I fly off the handle and act like a jerk, if I indulge in harsh words that suit my sense of an injustice having been done me, demanding “my rights” as a customer or patron, how will I ever persuade them to study the Bible with me?  Could I turn right around and hand them an invitation to church services, a gospel meeting, or a ladies Bible class?  Just exactly what kind of reaction do you think I would get?  Did you have a bad morning?  Our bad moods can be very expensive—they can cost someone else his soul.

              So remind yourself the next time you are caught in a tricky situation.  Paul told the Corinthians they should be willing to suffer wrong so the church wouldn’t be ridiculed by the litigious behavior among them (1 Cor 6:7).  What are we willing to suffer so the first impression we leave with someone, won’t guarantee that it will be the last?
 
Show yourself in all respects to be a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, dignity, and sound speech that cannot be condemned, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us, Titus 2:7-8.
 
Dene Ward      

It takes us three days to pack for a camping trip.  I have a list saved on the computer that I print out every time—three pages.  Yes, I said three pages.
            Just for meals, for instance, I pack cups, mugs, plates, soup bowls, a measuring cup, grill tools, saucepans, skillets, the coffee pot, propane stoves, matches, gas canisters, coffee filters, a griddle, a folding grill, a mixing bowl, silverware, mixing spoons and spatulas, foil, Ziplocs for leftovers, a bacon drippings can, paper towels, dish soap, a dish pan, dish towels, hot pads, and trash bags, and that doesn’t count the food!  Now imagine things you need for every part of your day, from brushing your teeth, to hiking, to showering, to sitting around after dark reading, to going to bed, and you begin to see why the list is three pages long.
            We use this list because I have found that if I don’t have it to cross off, I will invariably forget something.  From time to time we delete something on the list or add something as our situation changes.  When we were young we didn’t need to take two boxes of medications. 
            We keep a backup disk of items saved on the computer.  That list is on it.  Should we ever lose it, I might even be tempted to never go camping again.  I cannot imagine having to remake the list from memory.  More likely, we would remake it around the fire the first night after discovering all the things we forgot.
            When we had boys with us, I had other things on the list that were equally important.  In fact, I was probably more careful about their things than mine.  I wanted them to have enough clothes, especially enough warm clothes.  I learned that lesson the hard way when we woke up by a mountain stream one June morning to fifty degree temperatures and they had nothing but shorts and tee shirts to wear.  Fifty degrees in June?  As a Florida native I didn’t even know that was possible, and I felt horrible, quickly mixing up some warm oatmeal and hot chocolate while Keith built a campfire for them to huddle around as they ate.
            We are all on a trip every day of our lives.  What have you packed for your children?  Too many parents just let life happen without a plan.  Do you teach them?  Do you talk with them every chance you get about a God who loves them, who made them, and who expects things of them?  Do you discuss the things that happen in their lives and the decisions they made, or perhaps should have made?  Do they know that those decisions will affect their eternal destiny?  Do you allow them to pay the consequences for their mistakes, or do you shelter them?  Do you tell them what the world is really like out there, how to recognize the traps, the enemies in disguise and the true values of life?  Are you sure you have everything they could possibly need to assure their eternal destiny?
            Maybe you need to make a list.
 
We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might, and the wonders that he has done. He established a testimony in Jacob and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers to teach to their children, that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children, so that they should set their hope in God and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments; Psalms 78:4-7.

I don’t know what we would have done without hand-me-downs. 
            Lucas survived his infancy on borrowed baby clothes, but that young mother soon needed them again so there were no tiny clothes to pass down to Nathan.  At that point we were living by a children’s clothes factory and could go to the outlet store and buy seconds for as little as fifty cents each.  Each summer and each winter I dug my way through a mountain of irregulars and managed to find three shirts and three pairs of either shorts or long pants, according to the season.  Sometimes the colors were a little odd, like the “dress” shoes I bought for Lucas when he was two—maroon patent leather with a beige saddle—but they covered his feet for $1 and no one was likely to mistake them for another child’s shoes.
            Then, just as they reached school age, we found ourselves in a church with half a dozen little boys just three or four years older than they.  Suddenly my boys’ closet was bursting.  They were far better dressed than I was, and they had even more waiting to be grown into.  They didn’t mind hand-me-downs and neither did our scanty bank account.
            Keith and I have followed suit.  Probably 75% of my clothes are hand-me-downs, and the rest I picked up at consignment shops and thrift stores, with only a handful of things I bought new, always off a clearance rack.  Keith has more shirts than he could wear in a month—we didn’t buy a one of them.
            When you get a hand-me-down, sometimes you can’t wear it as is.  Sometimes it’s my own personal sense of taste, meager though that may be.  Sometimes it’s a size issue.  I have been known to take up hems or let them out if the giver was taller or shorter than I.  I almost always remove shoulder pads.  I have wide shoulders for a woman and shoulder pads make me look like a football player in full gear.  If the collar has a bow, a scarf, or high buttons, those go too—I hate anything close around my neck and it makes my already full face look like a bowling ball.  So while I gratefully accept those second hand clothes, I do something to make them my own.
            Which brings me to handed-down faith.  Being raised in the church can be both a blessing and a curse.  Being taught from before you can remember means doing right becomes second nature.  There is never any question where I will be on Sunday morning because I have always been there.  There is never any question what I will do when it’s time to make a choice that involves morals or doctrine.  There is never any question about my priorities—my parents taught those to me every day of my childhood, both in word and deed.
            Yet God will not accept any faith that is not my own.   Yes, He was with Ishmael for Abraham’s sake, Gen 17:20; 21:13.  To those who are dear to His children, but who are not believers, God will sometimes send material blessings, 39:5, and physical salvation, 19:29, but He will not take a hand-me-down faith until it becomes personal, Ezek 18:1-4.  I have to reach a point where I know not only what I believe, but why, and that faith must permeate my life as I lead it, in every situation I find myself in, in every decision I must make, but at the same time come from my heart not habit.  If I have not reached that point, what will I do when my parents are gone?  Will my faith stand then?  Or will I be like Joash, who did just fine as long as his mentor Jehoiada the priest was alive, but fell to the point of killing his cousin Zechariah, a prophet of God, when he was finally left on his own? (2 Chron 24) 
            Pass your faith on to your children, but your job doesn’t end there.  Help them make it their own.  Let them tear out those shoulder pads and lengthen those hems.  It really isn’t a compliment to your parenting skills if all they can do is mimic you while you are still alive to keep tabs on them.  You might in fact be limiting them by demanding exact conformity to every nuance of your own faith.  Their faith could very well soar farther than you ever thought about if you let them fly.
            But the real test comes when you are gone.  Can you rest well with the job you have done?
 
I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, since I know that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things. For… we have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts, 2 Peter 1:13-15, 19.
 

It’s been over three decades now.  Things have always been tight for us, but that particular time was the worst.  Through no fault of his own, Keith was in between preaching jobs, making ends meet with a couple of part time jobs and two or three preaching appointments a month, while finishing up his degree on the GI Bill.  I had a twenty-month old, was five months pregnant, and battling both an ulcer and gall stones.  Every month we pulled the belt a little bit tighter.

              I had $20 a week to spend on groceries—period.  Even in that day it was only about half what others spent, even those who thought they were living closely.  I bought one piece of meat or poultry a week and made it last four or five days.  A whole chicken (19 cents a pound) provided the breasts for our one splurge meal that week—we actually had a whole chunk of meat on our plates.  The next day I used the thighs for a casserole of some sort, and with enough filler like rice or noodles it lasted two nights.  Then I boiled the backs, wings, and neck in a huge pot of water as a base for chicken and dumplings, a copious amount of dumplings, for another two night meal.  The other two nights that week we filled up on meatless meals—cheese omelets, pancakes or waffles, black beans and rice, pinto beans and cornbread, lentil soup, or on really tight days—biscuits and gravy, the gravy using only bacon drippings, flour, and milk.  Don’t ever judge a person’s wealth, or even their self-control, by their girth.  Poor people food is fattening food.  Only the economically comfortable can afford fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, lean meat, and fish.

              Besides learning to stretch a dollar, I also learned to eat more slowly.  My little boy may have been a toddler, but he still needed to eat to grow.  I gave him the small plateful I thought he could eat, but often, when he asked for “more,” the only “more” was on my plate.  I had already rationed Keith to the point that I worried that a grown man working that many hours a day had enough to survive.  So I willingly scraped off what was left on my plate onto my child’s.  I was more than happy to do that for him.  When we chose to have these children, we automatically took on the responsibility to feed them and care for them, even if it meant we didn’t eat.

              I am afraid I am seeing parents who don’t believe that any more.  I know many fine young Christians who automatically sacrifice for their children, but the world doesn’t seem to think that’s normal.  Have you looked at the magazine rack in the grocery store?  Have you heard the discussions with people who think that everyone but they themselves should pay for their child’s basic necessities?  But let’s keep this personal instead of political.

                “I’m so tired.”  “I’m so stressed.”  “I don’t have time for me any more.”

              No, you don’t.  Yes, it’s exhausting, it’s frustrating, it’s completely overwhelming.  That’s what happens when you take on the care of a completely helpless human being.  That’s what you signed on for when you decided to have a child.  That’s the commitment you made when you decided to enjoy the act that might produce that child.

              You may not have as much time to primp and preen as you’re used to.  You may go weeks or months without being able to enjoy your favorite pastime or hobby.  You may go seven years without a single new article of clothing because any pennies you can squeeze out of the paycheck go to the three shirts, three pairs of pants, four pairs of underwear, four pairs of socks, and one pair of shoes you must buy for a growing child every six months at yard sales, outlets, and consignment shops.  You may even scrape the food off your plate. 

              That’s what loving, responsible parents do, and they never begrudge the sacrifice, especially not the time, because one day, far too soon, you wake up and it’s over.  No more babies to rock, no more stickers to put on the potty training chart, no more little fingers in the cookie dough.  You’ll have all the time in the world for yourself—your career, your hobbies, your hair appointments and shopping sprees—but no amount of wishing will give you back the time you could have spent teaching, training, nurturing and loving your children into a happy, productive adulthood, and they will probably pay for that neglect in one way or another.
 
Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate. Psalms 127:3-5
 
Dene Ward

I think I saw it the first time during the Olympics coverage and it rankled immediately.

              "Fearless kids aren't born; they're made," says the new Universal Studios ad.  And how are they "made?"  Evidently, if you send your children to that amusement park, you will make them strong, fearless, and brave.  Are you kidding me?

              While it is true that fearless kids are not born, we are a pretty sad lot if we think turning them over to these folks will make them fit for a life that usually has its share of tragedy and hardship.  On the contrary, too many of our kids who are raised on amusement parks and entertainment in general tend to think themselves "entitled"—entitled to fun and toys of all sorts, even if it bankrupts the family or destroys any semblance of family time.  Then when the inevitable hardship occurs, they turn into unstable mush. 

             I would hope that Christian parents know better.  The Bible tells us how to be fearless, and it also tells us that it is our responsibility to raise those souls God has entrusted to us and no one else, certainly not Universal Studios.
You start by teaching them about God.  God is your shield, Gen 15:1, you tell them.  He is your light, your salvation, your stronghold, Psa 27:1.  He will not leave you or forsake you, Deut 31:6.  How can you be afraid when you know that?

               You are important to Him, important enough for Him to give His Son to save you, John 3:16.  He offers you redemption Isa 43:1.  He finds you valuable, Matt 10:31.  Like Daniel, if you remain true to him you are "greatly loved," Dan 10:19.  When was the last time you neglected something that valuable to you?  Never, probably, and that's the way it is with God, too.
He will hear your prayers, Dan 10:12, and he will bless you, giving you a hope others in the world do not have, 1 Pet 3:14.  Why should you "fear their fear" 1 Pet 3:14?

           Then you set the example yourselves.  Act like someone who is fearless, someone who trusts God in every situation, even when you do not understand and things look grim.  Show your child trust, show him courage, show him that you believe all those things you have been telling him all his life, and act like someone who isn't afraid of anything.  You aren't afraid because you know where you stand with God, and that is the key.  Why be afraid of anything else in this life if you know who is on your side, and where you are going when it's over?

             No amusement park in the world can make a fearless kid out of your child.  Only you can.  If you want to go there for a visit, that's fine, but don't fall for the guff.  You are the one God will hold accountable.
 
Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isa 41:10)
 
Dene Ward

We put up several new feeders recently, along with some new bluebird houses and a couple of small birdbaths.  We hoped to increase both the numbers of birds visiting us, as well as the varieties, and we succeeded.  The very first day our usual birds had multiplied and there on the ground was a new one.  It didn’t take long to find him in the bird books I have—a brown-headed cowbird.

              The cowbird is a member of the blackbird family, and it is easy to think him some sort of blackbird.  That brown head is not obvious at a distance.  He stretches 7 to 8 inches from head to tail, glossy black with a chocolate brown head and a pointed gray bill.  Cowbirds do, however, have a negative trait—they lay their eggs in the nests of other birds, then go off and expect that bird to raise their young.  Sometimes the host bird will destroy the unfamiliar eggs, but far more often, they will raise the cowbird nestlings, often neglecting their own.  Cowbird chicks are so much larger than the hosts’ chicks that they take most of the food and leave the others hungry.

              Do you know what they call birds that steal nests and abandon their young to others?  Parasite birds.  I had never thought of it that way, but it is a legitimate biological classification.  Cuckoos do it.  Wood ducks do it.  In fact, about 750 species of birds do it.

             Humans wouldn’t do that, would they?  We wouldn’t ignore the sanctity of marriage between one man and one woman, breaking up a home at will just because “I want him now,” or “I don’t love her any more.”  Why can’t I steal someone else’s nest if I want it?

              I have things I want to do, a career that makes me important.  I’m not made for taking care of children--I shouldn’t be saddled with these kids.  Why can’t the government raise them for me?  Why can’t I hire someone to do the dirty work?  Why can’t I lay my eggs in someone else’s nest and expect them to be responsible for my children?

              Why do I have to work to support my family?  Why should I have to control my physical hungers?  Why can’t I live as I want and not have to bear the responsibility of what follows?  Why can’t I deposit my burdens in someone else’s lap to pay for and tend to?

              I wonder if biologists have a class of human called “parasitic.”  “Entitlement” comes to mind; “selfishness” as well, not to mention “irresponsibility.”  God holds us accountable for our lives, for our health, for our families, for all the privileges we claim, especially in the most blessed society in the world.  He expects us to exercise self-control.  He expects us to be mature in our choices and responsible for them.  He expects us to be considerate of others in those choices too.

              Now that I have about 95% of you agreeing with me, let’s take it one step farther.  What about Christians who deposit their children in Bible classes and expect the church to teach them?  Sometimes parents will see that the child does his lesson, but sometimes the teachers are lucky if a workbook accompanies a child at all, much less one that has been well-studied and filled out.  The Bible tells us that parents are to teach their children, not the church.  It is certainly commendable to take them to Bible classes, but the example they see many, many more hours a week at home is the one that they learn from.

              The brown headed cowbird is one of the most disapproved of birds in the avian world.  Why is that we think the same sort of behavior, in any of its manifestations, should be acceptable, even applauded, in ours?
 
But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without natural affection, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power. Avoid such people. 2 Timothy 3:1-5
 
Dene Ward

In case you haven't figured it out, I love for our grandsons to visit.  My house is a wreck, my schedule is shot, I live on chicken nuggets and mac and cheese and watch either Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Paw Patrol.  The laundry piles up and sometimes the dishes, which is a real mess because I don't have a dishwasher to hide them in.  I sit by the plastic pool being splashed on purpose and loving it, or egg on the mudfights, perfectly happy to clean up the resulting mess.  I help build highways in the ever present Florida sand, chase rocket sling shots as they scream through the sky, throw flimsy balsa airplanes into loop-de-loops, and push a swing till my arms want to drop off.  Isn't that what grandmas are supposed to do?

              I fall into bed every night utterly exhausted, but still listening for the whimpers of bad dreams or the cries of a sick tummy from too much homemade chocolate sauce on the ice cream, and get up and run whenever necessary.  Sleeping late is not an option, but who would want to anyway?  Every day is another chance to build those memories and instill those values with a Bible story every night, a memory verse picture card, a Bible game, or craft.  And then there is this.

              Every morning I lie there still in the mists of sleep when suddenly I am pelted by a soft, well-worn stuffed tiger—Lucky, if you remember—then a fairly new crocheted and stuffed Minion (ask your grandkids), and finally a blanket (Leo, by name) slowly unfurling as it flies through the air like the flying scroll in Zechariah's vision.  Our bed is high off the floor, and a toddler cannot possibly climb in without both hands to pull up by.  So after the pelting ends, the bed begins to shake and a little blond head begins to rise over the sides of the mattress, little hands persistently pulling on the sheet, little grunts of exertion sounding with every pull.  I reach down and pull on a pajama bottom waistband, giving him just the impetus he needs to climb on to the top, then burrow under the covers next to me.  I snuggle against the warm little body, the scents of bubble bath, baby shampoo, and lotion wafting up around us in the body heat.  When his head hits the pillow he rolls away from me only to scoot quickly backwards so I can spoon him and wrap him with both arms.  We are both back asleep in less than a minute.

              At least until the next set of footsteps comes in, heavier and faster, a boy whose head is already higher than the edge of the bed, who can fairly easily scale the billowy mattress and bedclothes and who, already knowing from longer experience that he is more than welcome, clambers right on in all the way over me, and snuggles down between me and his Granddad.  The game of "Wake up Granddad" ensues, giggling at the pretend growls and grumbles, growing louder with each attempt, until finally we are all good and awake and ready to begin the long day of play again.  Do you think I begrudge the sleep?  You know better than that.

              Yet knowing all of that, we sometimes act like God would begrudge the attention we ask of him, apologizing for bothering him "when there are more important things" for him to do.  Just like there is nothing more important than my children or grandchildren's welfare, there is nothing more important to God than ours.  Understand:  that does not mean he will always say yes to his children any more than I always say yes to mine.  That does not mean that there may not be things we will never understand in this world, nor maybe even in the next.  But you are important to God.  He revels in the relationship you two have.  How do I know?  Look what he sacrificed to have it.

              And don't you believe in his infinite power?  I may have to leave things undone in order to spend time with Silas and Judah.  God never has to leave things undone.  He can do it all, including the piddly little things we sometimes beg for while still keeping the earth spinning on its axis and the sun rising again and again.

              If you haven't climbed into the warm bed of love and compassion that God feels toward you, don't blame God.  He wants you there.  He will help pull you into the safety and comfort of his arms.  He won't begrudge a minute of it—unless you do.
 
I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD. (Ps 40:1-3)
 
Dene Ward

Too many times we studio teachers teach only the instrument, piano and voice in my case, and neglect the other things that make one a well-rounded musician—history, theory, ear training.  So for my students I made up history notebooks focusing on one particular composer each year containing articles, worksheets, and listening labs.  When the makeup of the studio suddenly increased to 40% voice students, I decided to make a notebook with them in mind, one on opera.  Besides, even piano students needed to know about opera.

              I began with worksheets on the history of opera and types of operas.  Then we moved on to study the stories of 5 different operas, followed by a listening lab on one of the more famous arias from each opera.  I live in a rural county.  The closest thing to opera any of these students had ever seen or heard was their grandparents’ reminiscences of Minnie Pearl and the Grand Ol’ Opry.  The answers I received on many of the listening labs often made me laugh out loud and taught me a lot about perspective.

              “Nessun dorma” from Turandot:  (All the recordings were in the original language of the opera.)  On the question, “Describe the melody,” a 6 year old wrote, “Sounds Italian to me.”  How could I argue with that?
              Another question attempted to point out the emotion in the singers’ voices by asking, “Where in the music do you think he sings, ‘I will win!  I will win!’?”  Though it was in Italian it was obvious; even the 6 year old got it.  But one 10 year old thoroughly misunderstood the question and wrote, “I don’t know, but he was so loud, he MUST have been outside somewhere.”

              “La donna mobile” from Rigoletto:  “What are the main difficulties of this aria?”  A 9 year old answered, “He’s trying to get a woman, but can’t.”

              We could not have left out Carmen, though presenting this less than moral character to children took a bit of discretion.  We listened to the “Habanera,” which is, in reality, a dance.  “Carmen likes to flirt a lot.  How does the fact that she is singing to a dance make it sound ‘flirty?’”  A 9 year answered, “It shows she’s pretty smart if she can sing a dance!”

              Because the majority of my singers were 14-16 year old girls, I chose Charlotte Church’s recording over Maria Callas’s version of Carmen.  Charlotte was only 15 at the time and I felt they could better relate to her.  However, this brought about the question, “How is her ability to sing this character likely to change as she gets older?”  Talk about perspective, a 9 year old boy wrote, “She’ll soon be married and she’d better not be flirting with other men!!!!”  But a 16 year old girl wrote--now remember Charlotte was only 15 on this recording--“It won’t be long till she is so old she won’t even remember how to flirt any more.” 

              Was this notebook successful?  When I took up the final exams I wondered.  The first question was “Define opera.”  An 11 year old wrote, “A type of music for men and women where you sing real LOUD.”

              But I also had them write, both at the beginning of the study and at the end, what they honestly thought about opera.  One 14 year old was very tactful at the beginning of the year when she wrote, “I think people who can sing it are very talented.”  But at the end of the year she wrote, “If this is opera, I really like it.  And I learned not to ever say I don’t like something when I don’t really know anything about it.”

              I wonder how many people approach the Bible that way?  They believe it to be a book of myths, a storybook, only a suggestion for how to live, anything but the Word of God when they have absolutely no personal knowledge on the subject.  They have never considered the evidence; they have never made comparisons to other ancient writings that are far less convincing.  We have only 643 copies of Homer’s Iliad but over 5700 copies of the scriptures, and no one ever questions the completeness and accuracy of that Greek epic.  We believe George Washington existed and became our first president.  Why?  Because of eyewitness accounts, the same type of accounts available in historical documents about Jesus.  Even people who accept Jesus as the Son of God, question the validity of the New Testament because it was a translation, yet Jesus himself quoted a translation of the Old Testament, one about as far removed from him in time as the New Testament is from us, and all this barely skims the surface of internal and external evidences validating the Bible.

              My students learned a valuable lesson the year we studied opera:  don’t judge until you check it out yourself.  If you are wondering about the Bible, about Jesus, and even about the existence of a Creator, the only logical and fair thing is for you to do that too.
 
For the word of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us who are saved it is the power of God. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, And the discernment of the discerning will I bring to nought. Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For seeing that in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom knew not God, it was God's good pleasure through the foolishness of the preaching to save them that believe. 1 Corinthians 1:18-21
 
Dene Ward

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing. (Jas 1:22-25)

              How many times has the above passage been used in sermons and articles?  I think I have even used it myself, at least once if not more on this blog.  We must constantly look at ourselves in the mirror of God's word and then we will see all of our faults and be able to fix them, right?  I recently had an experience that made me stop and rethink all of that.

              We had the privilege of keeping our grandsons for a while, and had taken them to their favorite eating joint.  Silas sat across from me in the booth and we were discussing school or piano or something of the sort.  He leaned down to get a sip of his soda then looked right at me and said, "Grandma?"

              "Yes?" I encouraged.

            "You have two different eyes, don't you?  One big eye and one little eye."
 
             It took a minute for me to realize what he meant.  So then I explained that I had very sick eyes (which is exactly what one doctor called them), and that the "little eye" had needed so many surgeries that I couldn't hold it open as well as I could the other one.  He was perfectly satisfied with the explanation and we went on to talk about other things.

              That night I looked in the mirror, wondering where was this "little eye" that he saw.  I had never noticed that much difference.  That's when I realized that every time I looked in the mirror I only looked at the other eye.  It has had surgeries too, and it is also "sick," but it has not been medically abused as much as the other.  When I made myself look at both eyes I was actually startled.  Since I always focus on the other eye, I had never really noticed exactly how different the two eyes look.

              Don't you suppose the same thing can happen when we look in the mirror James spoke about?    Simply looking in the mirror is not enough when we only look at the good we do and refuse to look at the very sick parts of our souls, the parts that really need spiritual medicine.

              So here is today's challenge:  don't just look at the big eye; focus on the little one, the one you really need to see.  I can't fix my "little eye," but you can fix yours right up, if you are brave enough to really look at it and honest enough to change.
 
How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take out the speck that is in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother's eye. (Luke 6:42)
 
Dene Ward