I hardly ever go to the mall.  Because our finances have always been tight, I only shop for things when I need them, otherwise it seems to me an exercise in futility.  I can’t afford to get “tired” of something.  If it works, we use it.  If it hasn’t fallen apart yet, we wear it.  Yet sometimes I have to make that trip, usually once a year, twice at the most.  The first time I made it with a toddler and a babe in arms was almost disastrous. 
            Both my boys were obedient little boys.  Not that they came that way—it took a lot of effort and consistent training because they both had Ward blood in them, but eventually I never had to worry about taking them anywhere.  Two year old Lucas followed along as I traipsed from store to store looking for—well, I don’t even remember now.  I had Nathan in one arm, a diaper bag in the other, and my purse over one shoulder, so there was no hand to hold on to Lucas.  He was usually right by my side, and if he suddenly disappeared, I looked back and he had just lagged a bit as we went by a particularly eye-catching display.
            Then, just as we left one of the anchor stores on the far side of the mall, and stepped into the open area, I looked down and he wasn’t there, nor anywhere close.  My heart plummeted, my stomach heaved, and my mind screamed his name before I could even get it out of my mouth.  I ran back into that store, and there ten feet inside, he was standing by a display.  What had caught his interest I don’t know--I doubt I ever knew.  I called his name and he looked at me and smiled and came running.  Me?  I knelt on the floor and somehow with a squirmy four month old and a diaper bag and a purse, I managed to wrap him up in my arms and hug him so tightly that he started to pull away.
            “You need to be careful to stay with Mommy, okay?” I managed with a slight catch in my throat, and he nodded happily.  On we went to do the necessary shopping, but my eye was on him far better than it had been before.
            I doubt very many of you have not had something similar happen to you.  It is, perhaps, the worst feeling in the world to think your child might be lost.
            It amazes me when people do not have that same horrible feeling when their child’s soul is lost.  How can you not run around calling his name and asking people for help?  How can you not agonize about it?  I want to share with you two wonderful examples should you ever need them—which I pray neither you nor I ever do. 
            We have spoken with the lost child of a close friend more than once, offered to study the Bible, and just conversed about life in general at other times.  She appreciates everything we try to do for her child, whether it works or not.  She has even told her child, when that child was mildly disgruntled about one conversation, “Isn’t it wonderful that they care so much?” which effectively put that problem to rest. 
            I keep in contact with the child of another friend.  That child is not amenable to spiritual discussions these days, but he knows I will say something every time anyway, and probably because of his good parents, he accepts my overtures in a friendly way, tolerant when I leave him with a statement like, “You know what you need to do.”  She has told me she doesn’t care what I say to her child, “Just please keep saying something.”
            Neither one of these parents allow their children to complain in their presence about the ways we approach them.  Neither one of them blames us nor anyone else for the decisions their adult children have made, and their children know that too.  I carry great hopes for both of those children, and for those grieving parents.  I feel like their lost children will indeed be “found” some day, partly because of the attitude their parents have managed to keep throughout the whole ordeal. 
            If you have a lost child, follow their example.  As long as you allow that child to blame someone besides himself, he will never see the need for repentance.  As long as you allow her to make excuses, whether justified or not, she will think everyone else is at fault, not her. 
            When I lost Lucas for those few minutes, I didn’t care who helped find him, or what I looked or sounded like as I went running and hollering back into that store.  I just wanted my baby safe and sound.  Can you imagine someone saying, “No!  I don’t want you to look for my child?” 
            Your child may be standing right in front of you, but if his soul is lost, he might as well be a helpless toddler lost at the mall.  Do what you need to do, and accept the help of others without hamstringing them. I lost my little boy once.  I don’t want to ever go through that again, but if I do, rest assured, I will be calling you for help to find him, and I won’t care a bit how you go about it.
 
But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to celebrate, Luke 15:22-24.
 
Dene Ward

It's been eleven years, which I can hardly believe.  Silas came to visit all by himself.  Granddad had carefully planned the play time, and on the first afternoon, as the thermometer hit 95, and the sun beat down mercilessly, he grabbed the garden hose and I knew immediately what was up.
            Keith was always a hands-on Dad, more hands on than the boys wanted in some cases, but also in the fun times.  He played with them from the time they were born, carefully moderating his strength when they were small, but never moderating the little boy inside that never quite left him.  One of my favorite pictures came when he knocked on the door one rainy day, and there the three of them stood, streaked with mud, having played in the soft warm rain throwing mud balls until you could only tell which was which by their relative size.
            So now it was four year old Silas’s turn, his baptism by mud, so to speak, as Keith filled up the low spot in front of the sour orange and the herb bed, dammed by a berm so the water would back up and have time to soak into the ground before rushing on down the hill to the run just off the east side of the property.  As soon as the spot was a couple inches deep, Keith called him in to splash around.  Even that took awhile, but finally Silas waded in and started jumping up and down, squealing with delight as the water splashed up around him, and especially when it splashed on Granddad.
            Then came the magic moment.  Keith reached down into the black mud, scraped up a handful, and flung it carefully onto Silas’s back.  Talk about indignant!  He scrambled up the slope to the carport where I sat in the breeze of a fan, drinking iced tea and watching the fun.  “Granddad threw mud on me,” he complained as he spun in a circle trying to see the damage behind him.
            “So throw some on him!”  I said encouragingly.
            He was aghast.  “But it’s dirty,” he argued.
            “That’s the fun,” I told him, and he slowly walked back to the puddle, glancing over his shoulder at me with a skeptical look.
            Granddad met him with another handful of mud, this time on the chest.  “Arghh!” he protested and scrambled away, but this time not to me.  I was obviously not on his side in this one.
            “Here,” Keith said, and stood, chest bare and arms out wide.  “Throw some on me.”
            Once again, Silas yelled, “No,” but it wasn’t long till he finally picked up a handful of mud on his own.  Keith stood there with a grin, waiting as Silas walked up to him.  But the little guy couldn’t stand it.  Just as he got within a four-year-old’s throwing range, he turned and threw the mud into the puddle instead.  Immediately, Keith picked up a handful and threw it on him.  Silas ran around in circles, but never left the area this time.  In a flash he had another fistful, but once again threw it in the puddle. 
            Finally, Keith sat down in the mud.  “See?  I’m already muddy now.  It’s okay to throw it on me.”
            It still took another five minutes, but finally Silas got into the spirit of the thing and threw a generous handful at Keith.   I am not sure how much reached skin, but he was as thrilled as if he had dumped a bucketful on him.
            For the next thirty minutes the mud was flying.  They both wound up with mud caked on their shorts, dripping from clumps on their shoulders, bellies, backs, and even their heads.  I doubt Silas had ever been that dirty in his entire life, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
            I could do a lot with this one.  I could talk about hands-on fathering.  I could talk about shucking your dignity so you can play with your child, about shedding that authoritative image so he will know you love him enough not just to correct him, but to enjoy being with him--on his level, not yours.  That’s easy, so I will let you take care of those.
            How about this?  Did you notice how hard it was for Silas to actually start throwing the mud?  Even though he was assured it was all right, even though he was encouraged to have fun that normally was not allowed, it still took a long time for him to give in, but give in he did.  Why do we think we can hold up against far more powerful forces than that when we place our souls in harm’s way?
            The world will tell you it’s all right.  The world will tell you it’s fun.  The world will say, “Look at me.  See?  I’m doing just fine, and so will you.”  If you think you won’t give in, you probably have an inflated opinion of your spiritual strength.  The truly strong person would have never been there to begin with.
            So take it from a little boy who had the time of his life in a mud fight.  You will give in too, only your fight will end up with a dirt that can’t be washed away with a hose, and you may enjoy it too much to ever leave the mud puddle behind.
 
You therefore, beloved, knowing this beforehand, take care that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability. But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen, 2 Peter 3:17-18.
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Joanne Beckley.

There are no original thoughts in the following bits of wisdom that I accumulated through the years. Yes, you may even have been one of the wise ones from whom I listened and learned!

Specifically for Mom
Tit 2:3-5 Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, . . . teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.

1. When you are tired or angry, shut your mouth. Everything is colored and wisdom is not present.
2. Listen! Whether it is wise counsel from husband, friends or, yes, even your child.
3. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Life does not revolve around your desired special bed of roses.
4. Go to bed with a tomorrow list in hand. Tomorrow will have purpose and your smile will be present.
5. Awake with a Bible reading, song and prayer. Ideally, your entire family will join in, led by your husband. And don’t forget to make time for personal Bible study and meditation. “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ” 2 Pet 3:18.
6. People often think the worst first. Forgive them.
7. “I’m sorry” should not be hidden treasure.
8. Everyone benefits from a cheery greeting. And don’t be surprised when suddenly your ear needs bending.
9. Husbands come first, then children. In time and priority, always. BTW, your husband is NOT one of your children.
Eph 5:24 But as the church is subject to Christ, so also the wives [ought to be] to their husbands in everything. 25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her.
10. Someday is Today. Set goals and aim toward them. Life goals, 40 years, 20 years, 10 years, 5 years, 1 year, 1 month, and one day at a time. What you do today should be toward your 1 month goals. Life is precious. Don’t live with regrets.
11. Bears are not allowed at our house. Recognize what makes you growl and either fix it or adapt.
 
Training Children
Mt 19:19 HONOR YOUR FATHER AND MOTHER; and YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF."
1. The Bible is your training manual. Use it! Www.childtrainingbible.com
2. Kids are manipulators par excellence. Stand your ground.
3. Begin as you mean to go on. Train for the future. Don’t change the rules. Modesty, obedience, respect, etc. Remember, God sets the standards.
4. Service is first learned at home. How you serve is what they learn.
5. Training is two-fold: affection and discipline. Both must be present and wisely distributed at all times.
6. “If a man will not work, neither will he eat.” Teach your children to work, and work with pride of accomplishment. If an attitude problem is present, remove the food.
7. Require respect toward ALL adults.
8. Children grieve. Help them.
9. Discipline problems at school will be noted at home.
10. When all is well, get ready for another surprise. Kids have a knack of tossing yet another challenge into the ring and you will be scrabbling yet again to find the answers.
11. When you are at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang tight. Set the children down - separate chairs, separate areas, and tell the children you need to go pray. And then go!
12. There is nothing wrong with your very young children sleeping in tomorrow’s clothes. Bathe the children, dress them in t-shirt and shorts/jeans. Tomorrow’s day begins without hassle.
13. Consistency, thou art a jewel. Say what you mean and mean what you say.
14. Clean the high-chair before you leave the kitchen.
15. Teach daily from God’s Word. Teaching character is critical in your child’s first five years. Bible stories, yes, but USE them as you emphasize character building qualities. Bible chronology can come later when they have a better understanding of time.
16. Don’t always hide to pray. Children need to see you practice what you preach.
17. Walk your Talk. Think seriously about baptizing a child. Knowledge is not enough. Do they understand Biblical steadfastness (commitment)? Do they understand what it means to confess Jesus as Lord?
18. You talk they listen. They talk you listen. Listen!
19. Post family rules on the back of the kitchen door. End of discussion.
20. Food and worship do not mix. Neither do toys and worship.
21. Refusing to obey is called rebellion. Nip it!
22. Purity is respect for self as God made you. Others (boys!) need to recognize the “No!” in you.
23. Encourage, encourage, encourage!
 
Col 3:17 And whatever you do in word or deed, [do] all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.

Joanne Beckley

     I have been in waiting rooms a lot lately.  When you have a rare condition, you tend to be there more often and when your doctor treats only the difficult cases, the wait is longer—the corporation tends to schedule appointments much more closely than he can possibly keep up with in a timely manner—in this case, every 10 minutes.  So I regularly sit two to three hours before I even see the man, but when I finally do, he is friendly, good-natured, but serious about my problem and gives me all the attention he thinks I require, which has been up to an hour.  So he gets even more behind because of me.
     I was in that waiting room recently, along with about two dozen others.  It tends to get more and more crowded as the day wears on and the doctors lag more and more behind.  Across the room a young child, maybe 3, was obviously tired of waiting.  He was out of his chair, whining, and stamping around on his little red sneaker clad feet.  His father sat on one side and his mother on the other.  Each parent was busy with a phone.  In fact, the mother also had her laptop open.  All they did was hiss at him to be quiet and sit still and immediately return to their devices.  He was three years old!  He had been sitting fairly still for at least 20 minutes!  What did they expect?
     Parents!  Please put your phones away.  Do it right now just to prove that you can!  But more than that, put it down and pay attention to what is going on with your children.  I have no doubt you will have plenty of time to look at the thing sometime during the day, but being a parent to your children is the most important part of your day, not being a parent to your phone.  That is exactly how it looks sometimes—like the phone needs more care than the child.
     I am not unsympathetic.  My poor boys have sat with me for hours in waiting rooms because grandparents lived hundreds of miles away and we could not afford babysitters and food for them and eye medicine for me.  I did not expect them to sit absolutely still and quiet.  We took bags of Matchbox cars, books, and favorite stuffed animals.  Occasionally we all played together, but usually they did fine with each other.  I also had a couple of non-messy snacks for them, and bottles of water or juice.  When time became long, I told the receptionist I would be in the parking lot should they call me, and we went out to walk around and explore so they could get some fresh air and enough exercise to kill the antsy-ness.  The people in the office were always understanding and complimented them when finally we left.   Most of the time, all your children want is a little attention.  They want to know they matter to you. And then they can be happy by themselves a little while longer.
     I walk past mothers in the supermarket who are looking at their phones, or even talking on them.  A few times the child in the seat of the cart was about to stand up and reach for something and mom had no idea until I pointed.  Once, I was ready to make a mad dash to catch a falling child even if the mother was far closer than I was.  Put down your phone.  If it's someone who really matters, who is truly a friend, they will understand.  Talk to your children.  Listen to your children. 
      I have about had it with moms and their "me time."  When you decided to take on the privilege of raising a soul to God, you sacrificed a lot of things, including regular "me time."  Please don't resent it, don't resent the children who are causing it.  In a few very short years they will be gone, and what will they remember of their childhood and their parents?  Watching them look at their phone all the time?  Trying to ask a question only to be met with, "Shhhh," over and over?  Needing a hug and getting a glare instead?
     Think of it this way:  you are learning to be the servant God wants you to be.  Suddenly, you won't be spending an hour putting on make-up when you go out.  You will find that instead of shopping for yourself, you are spending the available income shopping for children who outgrow clothes faster than ice cream melts in a Florida summer.  By the time those precious souls have left you, you will have grown into exactly the kind of servant God wants you to be, still serving others, even looking for ways to serve others, because you have finally grown up spiritually and understand the secret of true happiness—serving others, not self and certainly  not a phone.
     That won't happen if you look at your phone longer and more often than you focus on your child.  Nothing on that contraption is more important than they are. 

And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which ye shall command your children to observe to do, even all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life…(Deuteronomy 32:46-47).

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.
 
Dene Ward

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.
 
Dene Ward

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 on sale) 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
 
 

(This will make a lot of more sense to you if you go to http://flightpaths.weebly.com/2/post/2012/08/bussenwuddy.html, and read it first.)
            I told you awhile back about our first overnight with our grandson Silas.  It was fun, it was sweet, it was exhilarating, and it was a little frustrating at times when we weren’t sure what he wanted. 
            The “bussenwuddy” nearly got us.  Luckily I had cared enough to listen to the things he talked about to recognize “Buzz” and “Woody” from the Toy Story DVD.  Good thing I was the one listening.  Buzz and Woody could have been next door neighbors as far as Keith was concerned.  When you are profoundly deaf, you don’t casually pick up on bits and pieces of conversation or those things “everyone knows.”  You don’t immediately recognize normal words for all that.  No wonder he was lost.
            How well do you hear God?  Even if you recognize the words, do you know enough to make the correct associations and figure things out?  I know people do not know their Bible enough to be familiar with apocalyptic language when they turn the beautiful promises of the book of Revelation into some futuristic Armageddon between political nations (which, have you noticed, change with every generation’s “interpretation,” which ought to tell them something).  I know they don’t care enough to study carefully the entire communication God gave to us when they come up with ideas a real disciple can shoot holes through with half a dozen scriptures off the tip of his tongue.
            But how are we doing?  I hear more faulty exegesis from brethren these days than I do from my neighbors.  Taking things literally that are obviously hyperboles simply because they cannot comprehend a Lord who cared enough to come as one of us, speaking as one of us, including the use of hyperboles and humorous comparisons; refusing to see the obvious parallels between elements of the new covenant and those of the old because they have decided that “nailed to the cross” means don’t ever even look at the Old Testament again, much less study it; spending so much time fighting the heresies of mainstream denominationalism that they miss the important fundamentals of a sure hope and a grace beyond measure—these are just a few of the problems.
            What do you think of when you read “Christ in you, the hope of glory” Col 1:27?  Does the Shekinah even cross your mind, that physical manifestation of God’s glory that dwelt over the mercy seat?  Or is it just another “bussenwuddy” that eludes you, and robs you of a greater, more magnificent promise than you ever imagined?  I could go on.
            Knowing God’s word, not just superficially, but deeply, can lead to a greater understanding and a more heartfelt faith.  Facts may seem cold, but without them you are missing a lot.  You cannot make connections.  You cannot take your understanding to a deeper level.  You cannot see parallels and applications that will make your life more acceptable to your Father.
            Take the time to learn those facts.  How do you think you will ever come to a better knowledge of God if you don’t know what He said?  All it will be is a “bussenwuddy” on deaf ears.
 
For who knows a person's thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God. And we impart this in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who are spiritual. The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned. 1 Corinthians 2:11-14
 
Dene Ward
 

Usually buying gifts for our grandsons is difficult for us.  We have already had the problem of giving exactly the same gift as the other grandmother, but because I thought ahead of the possibilities and had taken my receipt with me, my children were able to exchange mine for something else.  Then there is the matter of not knowing what they already have or even like.  Once we hit the jackpot with scooters and another time with remote control cars, but we have hit that problem age now—middle school and early high school.  I don't want to just hand them money either.  Amazon has helped a lot with their "wish lists."  It's easy to go down a list, choose something in our price range, and hope they meant it when they put it on their list.  So far, they have been happy, if not deliriously so.
            This past Christmas, as I went down Silas's list which contained athletic shoe after athletic shoe and hoodie after hoodie, I was about to give up when suddenly I saw a mini-fridge.  We are talking really "mini" here—it only held 3 cans of soda.  We thought one of those hotel mini-fridges might be better and not much more, so we went searching.  Boy, were we wrong.  They cost about 6 times as much.  So we kept looking and finally found one closer to the one Silas had picked out, about the same price, but large enough for "12-15 soda cans."  So we bought it, told his mom to take the other one off his wish list so no one else would buy him one, and when it arrived, wrapped it and put it with the other presents.
            When time came to swap presents, his was one of the last.  His little brother, due to the relative costs of things, had gotten three less expensive items, and that meant Silas had only the one to open.  Finally we got to his present and when we placed the very large box in his lap and he felt how heavy it was, he wondered aloud what in the world it could be, which really surprised me, and made me worry a bit that we had gotten something he didn't really care that much about.  Surely if he hoped he would get it, he would be anxiously looking for something the right size and shape.
            So he began to tear off the paper, still wondering aloud, "What IS this thing?"  He got about a third of the paper off when he suddenly said, "I know what it is—I think," then more tearing of paper, and we finally heard, "Yes, it is.  It is.  It is!!"  For the rest of the evening he held that box in his lap with his arms wrapped around it, and we were as pleased about it as he was.
            We have had other experiences of gift-giving when, upon opening the present, the person said, "Oh.  I don't like those," by an adult, mind you, and the same person more than once.  I can tell you I was floored.  My mama taught me better than that and it's hard to imagine anyone's mama who did not.  But isn't that just what we do to God and his gifts to us sometimes?
            Most of us have better sense than to say anything negative about the gift of a Savior.  But I have heard enough complaints about His body, the church, to make me wonder why He even bothered to give us one.  This is not just His body, it is His kingdom as well.  It is the list in heaven where our names are written (Heb 12:23)—a glorious honor.  It is the place on this earth, for now, where he has placed his people so they can help one another, support one another, and encourage one another.  Without this help where would we be, how could we ever overcome Satan's temptations and destroy his devices?  But no, some of us are just like the scribes, Pharisees, and chief priests who refused to acknowledge the kingdom because they didn't like the King and the way it was set up—it didn't fill the bill to them.  He once said to them because of their attitude, “Truly…the tax collectors and the prostitutes go into the kingdom of God before you" (Matt 21:31).  How can we expect anything else when we slander one another, complain about the preacher and his sermons, or think everyone should listen to our opinions about how things are run or else we will leave?  Why do we think we can complain about such a gift and be any different than those people were?  Jesus won't take that any better than I took it when my gifts were complained about.
            No, the congregation which you are a member of is not perfect.  Probably they have disappointed our Father more than once.  But that's because it is made up of imperfect people who sometimes fail to follow the perfect law of liberty.  And that includes you.  My group includes me.  But if we all recognized the gift we have been given and what it cost—the life of Christ, at a minimum—then maybe it would come a little closer to the ideal that God designed. 
            When you complain about the gift, you are complaining about the giver of the gift as well.  I am sure none of us really mean to do that at all.
 
But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel (Heb 12:22-24).
 
Dene Ward

We got the call that Sunday morning at 5:32.  We were on the road as soon as we could be, but Silas’s little brother Judah beat us there by half an hour.  Mommy and Daddy had waited as long as they could, their three year old sitting big-eyed and quiet in the labor room, but ultimately had to call a church couple to take him.
            About 1:00 that afternoon those helpful people brought Silas back to the hospital, where we sat in the room with Brooke and Nathan, new baby Judah lying in a special bed under a warming light.  It took far longer than it should have to get that baby’s body temperature to an appropriate number. 
            Silas, still a bit confused, and very tired, ran straight to his parents.  Nathan lifted him into his arms and carried him over to the little bed.  He looked down at his four hour old, wrinkly red baby brother, his tiny head still misshapen from his passage into the world, and said, “What’s that?”
            I couldn’t help it.  A bubble of laughter escaped me at his innocent honesty.  When we told him this was his little brother Judah, the one who had been in Mommy’s tummy, his little head swung back and forth between his mommy and the figure in the clear, plastic bed, his eyes full of skepticism.  This was not what he expected.
            It took a couple of weeks for him to really come around, but who could blame him?  He was expecting a brother like the brothers and sisters his little friends had, and probably just as big.  He was expecting a playmate, but every time he shared his toys, the little interloper simply lay there and slept.  Where is the fun in that?  But children are nothing if not adaptable, and his little brother is growing on him.
            I fear some people look on their lives as Christians with the same skepticism with which Silas first viewed Judah.  Freedom, they were promised, but all they see are rules.  Joy, they were promised, yet they still suffer the same trials, illnesses, and financial problems as everyone else, even the same ones as before they were converted.  They’ve lost friends, and rifts in the family are worse than ever.  They expected people to come running at their every beck and call, yet every Sunday the preacher, an elder, a Bible class teacher—or maybe all three!!—tells them they have to serve others.
            Jesus dealt with the same problem among his followers.  Some came expecting to be entertained (Luke 7:32; 23:8).  Some came expecting to be fed (John 6:26).  Some came expecting to be part of a victorious army and a glorious kingdom here on the earth (Luke 19:11).  Very few “came around,” changing their expectations to match his offered reality.  He never changed his offer—if they wouldn’t accept it, he simply sent them away.  He drove off far more than ever accepted him (John 6:43-67).
            Sometimes we have to do the same.  We cannot change the church the Lord bought with His own blood to suit the carnal nature of an unspiritual world—we don’t have that right.  Be careful what you offer your friends and neighbors. God didn’t promise lives of ease, health and wealth, or even a church family that always behaves itself.  The test of faith comes when things are difficult, not when they are easy.
            The church wasn’t what the Jews expected.  As a result most of them missed out on the promised kingdom.  Examine your own expectations.  Make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you.
 
For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. Whoever thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and approved by men. Romans 14:17-18