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
 
 

A long time ago, a couple entrusted their two teenage daughters to us while they worked away from the area for six months.  I was 29 years old at the time, and 7 or 8 years from having teenagers of my own.  I doubt we really knew what we were getting into, but we agreed and did our best. 
            Having someone give the care of their children into your hands for more than just a couple of hours is terrifying.  I think we probably made even stricter decisions than we did with our own children when the first one hit that milestone age of 13 several years later.  This isn’t like borrowing a lawn mower, or even a luxury automobile—these were souls we were asked to look after, in some of their most important years.
            Those girls are grown now, even older than we were when they lived with us.  In spite of those six months, they turned out very well, as have their own children.  I doubt it had anything to do with us, but you had better believe that we were on our toes far more in those six months than at any other time in our lives.  Still, we made mistakes, but it wasn’t for lack of praying and considering before we did anything.
            I am sure you can understand how we felt.  Here’s the thing, as a famous fictional TV detective is wont to say:  all of us who are parents are given Someone Else’s kids to care for.  All souls are mine, God said in Ezek 18:4.  The Hebrew writer calls Him “the Father of spirits” in 12:9, the same word he uses in verse 23, “the spirits of just men made perfect.”  God is the Father of all souls, including those children of His He has entrusted to our care.  How careful should we be about raising them?
            I have seen too many parents who are more concerned with their careers, with their personal “fulfillment,” and their own agendas.  They want children because that is what you do, the thing that is expected by society, and a right they feel they must exercise, not because they want to spend the time it takes to care for them.  “I’m too busy for that,” they say of everything from nursing and potty training to teaching them Bible stories and their ABCs.  When you decide to take on the privilege of caring for one of God’s souls, you have obligated yourself to whatever time it takes to do it properly and with the care you would for the most valuable object anyone ever entrusted into your hands.
            If realizing that the souls of the children in your home are God’s doesn’t terrify you at least a little bit, you probably aren’t doing a very good job of taking care of them.
 
And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which you 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

The time Silas came to visit, shortly before his third birthday, Chloe scared him to death.  What did she do?  Nothing.  Our sweet-faced red heeler simply existed and Silas wasn’t too keen on being in the same yard with her, not even a five acre yard.
            Then he discovered that Chloe was even more afraid of him.  She would cautiously creep out from under the porch when we all went outside, but always made sure I was between her and that frightening little human.  What had Silas done to her?  Nothing.  He couldn’t get close enough to do anything to her. 
            When he finally understood, he thoroughly enjoyed his time outdoors.  He picked flowers for his mommy.  He loaded the bird feeder.  He looked for big hunks of bark that had fallen off the sycamore, broke them into three pieces—one for granddad, one for grandma, and one for himself—and led a countdown: 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1—whee!—at which point we all threw our hunks of paper-thin bark into the air, over and over and over until there wasn’t a piece of bark bigger than a quarter to be found anywhere.
            Then he walked around to the side of the house and found the two old bathtubs Keith soaks his smoker wood in.  “Oh!” he cried.  “A pool!”
            First, he simply stood there splashing the water.  Then he eyed an old coffee can and some plastic flower pots, and began dipping into the tub and pouring the water back in and, in the process, all over himself. 
            Then he eyed Chloe, the dog that no longer scared him.  You could almost see the wheels turning.  He dipped again into the tub and sat the can on its edge.  “Chlo-eeeee,” he called in a singsong voice.  “I have something fooooooor yooooooooou.”  He picked up the can and headed straight for the dog, sloshing water with every step.
            I knew exactly what he was going to do, and so did Chloe.  She took off running.
            Funny how one simple piece of knowledge was so empowering.  When Silas learned that Chloe was so afraid of him, he was no longer afraid of her.  But it isn’t just the knowing; it’s the believing.
            How many times do we fail because we simply don’t believe what we’ve been promised?
            With every temptation there is a way of escape, 1 Cor 10:13.  We are equipped with armor that will enable us to stand against the Devil, Eph 6:11-20.  We are guarded by the power of God unto a salvation that is ready and waiting, 1 Pet 1:5.  Our faith stands in the power of God, 1 Cor 2:5.  We are supported in our afflictions by the power of God, 2 Cor 6:7.  His power works in us, and we are strengthened by it, the same power that raised Christ from the dead, Eph 3:16,20.
            Do you think Satan isn’t afraid of you?  The devils believe also, and tremble, James says, 2:19.  Since it is Christ’s power that rests on you and not your own, 2 Cor 12:9, what makes you think you aren’t a fearsome entity as well?  The only thing that would hinder it is disbelief in the promises of God.
            Our weapons are mighty, 2 Cor 10:4,5, far more so than a bucket of water in the hands of a toddler, and we should be ready and willing to use them.  Yes, we should face the devil with care, just as we would a rattlesnake, but his fate is already sealed.  All we have to do is believe it.
 
…we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God. May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. Colossians 1:9-12

Dene Ward

Three year old Silas has learned to pray, and often sits at the table, eagerly clasping his little hands together, looking back and forth at his parents, hoping they will ask him to say the blessing. 
            “Do you want to say the prayer?” his daddy asks, as if it weren’t obvious, and he gets a big nod and off we go. 
It’s never about the meal.  To him it’s about talking to God and saying thank you for something, for anything, for whatever happens to be on his mind.
            “Hey God!”  Read that the way an excited child would greet his grandparents, not the way a New Yorker would yell, “Hey Mac!”
            “Thank you for sisters,” although he has none, but one of his little friends does, so he wants to mention it.
            “Thank you for blue, and red, and yellow,” the colors of the containers he puts his blocks in.  He doesn’t complain about having to pick up his toys.  He thanks God for something to put them in, and that’s the one that really made me think.
            I wonder how many of our complaints could be expressed as thanks with just a little thought.  Dealing with rush hour traffic?  Thank God you have a car to drive through it in.  Complaining about the stack of ironing?  Thank God you have that many clothes to wear.  Griping a little about picking up your husband’s shoes?  Thank God he is alive and well enough to leave them in the middle of the floor.
            I thought about this again yesterday when I was blowing off the carport.  We didn’t have one for years, and sometimes I think that all getting a carport did for me was give me something else to keep clean.  But last week when one of our usual summer gully washers came through, I could unload the groceries and stay dry. 
            Then I came in and heaved a sigh at the extra dirty floor.  That happened because we saved enough money to buy a new vanity for the bathroom and the plumber tracked in sand going in and out. 
            Stop and think today about the things you complain about.  How many are caused by blessings you could have thanked God for instead?  How many extra chores do you have because God has provided you a home and a family?  I never had to wash diapers until I had babies.  Do you think for one minute I would have given them back? 
            If ever anyone had something to grumble about, it was Daniel when the other two presidents and the 120 satraps tricked the king into making the law against praying to anyone other than him.  How did he react instead?  And when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went into his house (now his windows were open in his chamber toward Jerusalem) and he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God, as he did aforetime. Daniel 6:10.  Surely if Daniel could say thank you at a time like that, we can in this relatively easy time in history.
            God is patient with us as we daily grumble our way through a life He has blessed in thousands of ways.  You have to go to work?  These days especially, be grateful for a job.  Gas prices too high?  You’re still buying it, aren’t you? 
            Maybe we should be a little more like a three year old.  “Hey God!  (I’m so excited to talk to you!)  Thank you for all you have done for me, for the things you have given me that I don’t deserve and forget to be grateful for.  For all those extra chores, because they mean you have blessed me beyond measure.  For all my pet peeves, because it means I am able to be up and around and go to those places where they happen.  For the fact that I have to work so hard to lose weight, because it means I have plenty to eat.  For people who get on my nerves, because it means I have friends and family and neighbors and brothers and sisters in Christ—I am not alone.”
            Today look at everything you gripe about and find the blessing.  You will be amazed--and probably a little ashamed.  And maybe those gripes will go away, for at least a little awhile.
 
Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you, 1 Thes 5:18.
 
Dene Ward

We had our first opportunity for an overnight with our grandson Silas when he was two.  It was better than a trip to Disneyworld, better than a vacation in an exotic place, better than dinner in a five star restaurant, better than just about anything you could possibly think of.  Do I sound like a doting grandmother yet?
            When he woke the next morning, he remembered that it was the two of us who put him in the crib the night before and he called out, “Granddad!  Grandma!”  And there was that smiling face and those big blue eyes under a head full of tousled blond curls. 
            My one concern that weekend was understanding what he was saying.  He has been talking since he was one, but sometimes in a language we can’t quite figure out.  It sounds for all the world like a real tongue.  It comes complete with hand motions and facial expressions and he is quite fluent in it.  Unfortunately, we aren’t.
            The last year he has gained more English and less of his personal argot.  For two years old, as he was then, he had quite a vocabulary.  We were doing shape recognition, and he pointed to one and said, “That’s an oval.”  I hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of that when he added, “And that’s a rhombus.”  I quickly flipped through my own mental file card index, trying to remember that one from high school math classes. 
            That morning after we got him out of bed, he turned to me and said, “Can I have bussenwuddy?”
            I was stumped.  Maybe I didn’t hear right, I thought.  So I asked, “Bussenwuddy?”
            His little eyes brightened and he started jumping in my lap.  “Yes, yes!  Bussenwuddy!”
            Okay, now what?  Bussenwuddy...  I flipped through those file cards in my mind once again.  What have I heard him talking about that sounds like bussenwuddy?
            Finally it came to me.  “Buzz and Woody?” 
            Another excited little bounce.  “Yes, yes!  Bussenwuddy.  Can I?”  He wanted to watch the Toy Story DVD.  I felt like a successful grandmother--I had figured out what my two year old grandchild wanted.  Do you think anyone but a grandparent would have tried so hard?
            God is trying to talk to us every day.  He has put it down in black and white.  All we have to do is pick it up and read it.  Some of us won’t even be bothered with that.  Then there are the ones that will pick it up, but then put it back down in frustration.  “I can’t understand this.”  Well, how hard are you willing to try?
            I have had women leave my classes because “They’re too much work.”  Keith has had people complain about his classes because, “They’re too deep.”  Really?  I would be embarrassed to say such a thing if I had been a Christian for two decades or more. 
            Don’t I care enough about my Father in Heaven to put a little effort into it?  It isn’t that He expects us all to be scholars, who love to put our noses in books for hours on end.  But He does expect us to care enough to spend a little time at it.  He expects us to be willing to push ourselves some. 
            No, it isn’t all as simple as, “Do this,” or “Do that.”  Sometimes He throws a bussenwuddy in there (Matt 13:10-13; 2 Pet 3:16).  But if you really care about communicating with your Father, if talking to Him really excites you, if He is the most important thing in your life, then you will exercise that file card memory of yours and flip through it occasionally, striving (a word that denotes effort, by the way) to learn what He expects of you. 
            Knowledge alone doesn’t make you a faithful child of God.  You don’t have to be a genius with a photographic memory, but you do have to love your Father enough to be willing to work at building a relationship with Him.  Pick up your Bible today, and show Him how much He means to you.
 
And he said to me, "Son of man, go to the house of Israel and speak with my words to them. For you are not sent to a people of foreign speech and a hard language, but to the house of Israel-- not to many peoples of foreign speech and a hard language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely, if I sent you to such, they would listen to you. But the house of Israel will not be willing to listen to you, for they are not willing to listen to me: because all the house of Israel have a hard forehead and a stubborn heart. Ezekiel 3:4-7
 
 Dene Ward

We talked once before about the need to teach facts as well as attitudes.  You have nothing to base your attitudes on if you don't have the facts.  But there is one real problem with facts-only teaching.  You can know the story of the Good Samaritan so well you can quote it, but can you put feet to it?  Can you look at your own life and apply it to your situation?  Over and over I have taught the lives of various women in the Bible only to have an entire class look at me with a blank stare when I ask how it applies to their own lives.  If we want people to learn this skill, we need to start teaching it to them as children. 
            Keith and I are team-teaching a class.  When we went over the Parable of the Sower (or the Soils), by the time we had finished they could tell you about each soil in depth.  So the next class, I wrote descriptions of different people, giving these imaginary people the sort of names their own friends and classmates have to make them seem more real, and asked, "Which soil is she?"  "Which soil is he?"  Once they got the hang of it, they could answer with only a few seconds thought.  Finally I had them do it.  "Tell me how someone would act if he were…" fill in the blank with whichever soil you care to name.  They did very well.  I had to laugh though when we asked, "What would someone look like if he were good soil?" and one of them answered, "Us!"  I hope he is correct, and at least at this point, I think he is.
            This past week we tried something else.  First I had them name various things Jesus taught in short phrases:  love your enemies, let your light shine, enter the narrow door, do unto others etc., and be wise as serpents— you can easily come up with more.  Then I handed each a situation they might someday be facing if not in exact detail, then something similar.  We asked them what they would do in that situation and what thing Jesus taught had led them to that solution.  They gave us good solutions to the problems.  The difficult thing was finding something in Jesus' teaching that would have helped them know what to do.  As we talked together, if we mentioned one they could instantly see how that tenet of teaching informed the situation.  They could also see that sometimes there was more than one right way of handling the situation and not to be judgmental if someone did something else as long as they did not sin.   We will be repeating this activity again and see if things are improving.
            As many times as Keith has visited fallen away members and read passages to them only to be faced with that same blank stare, I wonder if maybe it's time to give us grown-ups a dose of the same medicine.  Don't think for a minute this is kids' stuff, but maybe if we taught our children this way, there wouldn't be so many adults who are clueless about, as we so often have heard prayed, "applying these things to our daily lives."  That is certainly what God expects us to do.
 
For it is written in the Law of Moses, “You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain.” Is it for oxen that God is concerned? Does he not certainly speak for our sake? It was written for our sake (1Cor 9:9-11).                                                                                          
 
Dene Ward